Irresistible Danger
by alreynolds13
Summary: After being caught outside the compound on your own, Negan decides to punish you in the best way possible ;)
1. Chapter 1

"God damnit," you cursed, looking down at the fresh drop of blood pooling on your thumb. You shifted the makeshift basket in your arm and glared at the hawthorn bush you had been picking berries from. You had gotten careless and stabbed yourself with one of the nasty-looking thorns.

Wiping the drop of blood onto your jeans, you continued plucking the small red berries from the bush as fast as possible without pricking yourself again. You didn't want to be out here for very long; it had taken an exorbitant amount of cajoling and flirting for you to convince Dwight to let you leave the Sanctuary again while he was on guard duty. There were times when you couldn't stand being cooped up anymore and just needed a break to go out exploring and gathering nuts or berries or whatever else you stumbled upon that caught your interest. You always carried a knife in case a walker wandered by and were sure to be back in the compound within the hour so that no one would notice you were gone.

You gave a little shudder at the thought of someone reporting you missing to Negan. You didn't want to know what he would do if he found out about your little weekly adventures out here by yourself. You had seen what he had done to Dwight's face and didn't even want to know what infraction he had committed to deserve such punishment.

Thankfully, Negan had never turned that type of brutality onto you; in fact, since arriving here your interactions with him had been almost….pleasant. You and the other two remaining survivors of your group were picked up on the road by a group of Negan's men about a month ago. You had been brought back here, where Negan had offered his protection so long as you all contributed to the compound in whatever way he asked.

The three of you had agreed, and within less than a day the other woman, Maria, had agreed to become Negan's fifth "wife" to ensure herself extra protection. You hadn't judged Maria for her decision. These were harsh times and people had to do things to survive that they wouldn't have considered before the walkers took over. However, when Negan had then asked you a week later if you wanted to be his sixth wife, you'd politely but firmly declined, your inner feminist refusing to be part of some harem when you felt perfectly capable taking care of yourself. "Your loss, doll" he had said with a smirk and walked off, never mentioning it again.

You furrowed her brows in concentration as you squatted and reached through the thorns for a bundle of berries further in the bush, your thoughts still lingering on Negan. It was a shame that he had to be so detestable as to sleep with a whole group of women, but at the same time you couldn't blame said women. Negan was a strong leader and his protection wasn't to be taken lightly.

You also begrudgingly admitted to yourself that he wasn't exactly hard to look at. No, you couldn't blame the other women at all. He could be incredibly charming when he wanted, and he had the type of grin that could make you catch your breath in anticipation and…

You were abruptly yanked from your thoughts and back to reality by the sound of a garbled growl right behind you and the feel of hands grabbing your shoulders. Panic flew through your entire body and you spun around just in time to stop a walker from biting into the back of your neck. Unfortunately, since you were still squatting your balance wasn't very stable and you fell backwards with a sharp cry into the thorn-filled berry bush.

Tears sprang to your eyes as you felt the thorns tear at your bare arms, but the true terror lay before you as the walker fell on top of you, your arms at its throat all that kept it from ripping off a chunk of your face. Your knife was in your boot, which you were unable to reach with the walker full length on top of you and both your arms straining to keep its snapping mouth at a distance. _This is it_ , you thought to yourself. _This is how I die. Of all the stupid, pathetic ways for me go, it had to be picking fucking berries while fantasizing about a psychopath._

At that moment the top of the walker's head exploded in a rain of blood and gore, chunks of brain hitting you in the face as the rest of the walker's body went limp. Shocked, you shoved the body to the side and looked up to find none other than Negan standing over you, a now gore-covered Lucille hanging from one hand. _Well shit_ , you thought at the dark look of rage on Negan's face. _Maybe I should've let the walker bite me after all._


	2. The Big Bad Wolf

You stared up at Negan, afraid to move despite the thorns still digging into your body. You ignored them, telling yourself that the living thorns behind you were preferable to the bloodied metal ones dangling in front of you.

"Care to fucking explain?" he growled quietly.

You wracked your brain furiously for some explanation that would appease him and keep him from blowing up on you. Your brain was screaming _say something intelligent_ but your mouth went with, "berries."

You almost backed up further into the bush as he took one step towards you. "Wanna fucking run that by me again?"

"B-berries. I was picking them."

You saw his eyes flicker down to the basket lying on its side, the little red fruit spilling out all over the ground. He surveyed the berry massacre before raising his gaze to lock back onto your own, his face giving no hint as to his thoughts.

"This is what you were fucking doing out here?" His stare pinned you to the spot and you nodded your head slowly in response, afraid any quick movements might set him off or make him think that you were lying. The utter lack of emotion on his face was causing you to sweat even more than the Georgia heat.

He again lowered his eyes to the basket, then up to the berry bush, over to the decapitated walker, and back to you, assessing the situation as if looking for cracks in your pathetic excuse of an explanation. After what felt like an eternity of silence, Negan threw his head back and laughed. You lay there stunned, feeling as though you had completely missed the punchline.

"So let me get this straight, doll. You fucking sneak past my men, leave the fucking sanctuary, and almost get fucking chewed up by a walker, all so you can play Red Riding Hood and fucking traipse through the forest picking berries?" A slow grin spread across his face as he lifted and opened his arms, "well darlin, say hello to the Big Bad Wolf."

It took a few seconds for you to process that he was actually joking with you. Instead of relief at Negan's humor, you felt the first sparks of anger. You had almost died, then had been saved only to fear you might die again in punishment, and now he was acting as if this was all some grand game of hide and seek. After the roller coaster ride of emotions over the past few minutes, you found you didn't appreciate being laughed at and then compared to some helpless fairytale damsel in distress.

Wincing as the thorns tore from your arms, you pushed yourself to your feet, grabbed the basket, and started marching back in the direction of the compound. You didn't make it more than a few feet before a strong hand closed around your bicep, halting you. He pressed his chest into your back before leaning down and whispering in your ear, "I say you could fucking go anywhere, Little Red? You haven't even seen what big teeth I have yet."

You felt a shiver go through you, and not in fear. His low, gravelly voice was so close that you could feel the puffs of air from his breath on the side of your neck. His hand was wrapped the entire way around your arm in an unbreakable grip, reinforcing how much larger and stronger he was than you. This was the closest you had ever been to him, and your brain was short circuiting in its attempt to process the situation. You closed your eyes and found yourself wondering what would happen if you let yourself relax back into him…his arrogant chuckle in your ear jolted you back to reality and you felt your cheeks burn in embarrassment. Anger at both yourself and at him, as well as a desire to gain at least some form of control over the situation, caused you to toss the words over your shoulder, "trust me, I've seen bigger."

He used his grip on your arm to turn you around so that you were facing him. He stood almost a foot taller than you but was still bent over from whispering in your ear. His face so close to yours was unnerving, and you tried to hold his gaze but your eyes involuntarily dropped down to his mouth. You knew that he was aware you were staring but you couldn't seem to stop yourself, especially when his lips slowly curved upwards before revealing a line of straight white teeth. It just wasn't fair that someone so terrifying could have such a devastatingly attractive smile. And voice. And… _stop it!_ You mentally slapped yourself and drug your eyes up past his salt and pepper surrounded grin and once again met his tawny gaze, struggling not to let your inner thoughts show.

He opened his mouth to speak, but thankfully you never knew what he was going to say because it was at that moment you heard loud steps coming directly towards you through the trees. Both you and Negan turned towards the sound, all traces of his smile gone as he let go of your arm with one hand and raised Lucille up to his shoulder with the other. Reaching down, you grabbed your knife out of your knee-high boot and held it in front of you, expecting more walkers to appear. Instead it was Dwight who stumbled into view, out of breath and with blood smeared on the front of his shirt.

"Negan, you're needed back at camp. It's an emergency. That group at Alexandria, the one led by Rick, they ambushed our men when they went to collect half the goods. Only two made it back, and they're in bad shape."

The look that came into Negan's eyes made you instantly feel bad for this Rick and his group. Whoever they were, they were totally fucked.

Gesturing in your direction, Negan harshly ordered Dwight, "get her back to the compound and have someone look at her fucking arms." He then turned back to you, "sorry doll, looks like we'll have to put our rendezvous on hold. But don't worry, I'm not fucking done with you yet."

As he turned and walked off you realized your mouth had fallen open at his comment, and you snapped it shut before looking at Dwight. You clenched your jaw even harder at the look of pity you saw on his face. You straightened your shoulders and gave him your best authoritative glare. "Well, what the hell are we waiting for? You heard the man, get me the fuck back to camp."


	3. Dinner or Dessert?

It had been almost a week since your encounter with Negan in the woods. In fact, it had been almost a week since you had seen Negan at all. You had gathered tidbits of information from Dwight and Maria, who both stated that Negan had been busy planning retaliation on Rick's group. His planning must've paid off, because Dwight had told you yesterday that the retaliation had been carried out successfully. He refused to give you the gory details, but apparently one of Rick's main followers had met a gruesome demise at the hands of Lucille.

Part of you wasn't surprised to hear about Negan's special brand of revenge, but the other part still shuddered at the thought that he could be so violent when provoked. And yet…you had provoked him in your own way, both by leaving the compound and by talking back to him, and had yet to be punished for doing so. Not that you were complaining, but you had expected to at least be given extra work to do around the compound or had your current responsibilities and work status taken away from you.

Instead, you continued with your usual duty of preparing the daily meals. When you had first arrived here you had been annoyed at being assigned the obviously feminine duty of cooking, but you had to admit that you had quickly grown to love working in the kitchen. In fact, due to positive reviews from multiple individuals you had been given more and more responsibility over the weeks, to the point that if this were a pre-apocalyptic world you would've been walking around with a name tag that read "head chef." Sure, it was difficult as hell to make appetizing dishes with the limited variety of foods, but you were able to get creative when needed. Not to mention once in a while one of the men would bring in some squirrels or rabbits for you to make a stew out of, which was always met with a positive response by the community.

You mourned the basket of hawthorn berries, which was still lying out in the woods where it had dropped six days ago. Your mind had conjured up multiple dishes you could've attempted if given enough of the little red fruit, but you didn't dare try to go back out and collect more. At least not yet. You might be what some people would call bold or audacious, but you definitely weren't stupid.

You were currently helping serve up the last round of dinner plates for the evening, your eyes scanning over the cafeteria-type area for what felt like the umpteenth time that day. Much as you hated to admit it, you found yourself a tad disappointed to find that Negan was once again nowhere to be found. He didn't usually attend dinner; in fact more often than not one of his wives would ask you to make up an extra plate for them to take to his quarters. That had been the case every night since you had last seen him in the woods, and you'd be lying if you said you weren't frustrated that he had been MIA for so long. Your frustration only served to then piss you off, since you repeatedly told yourself that the last thing you should care about was why he hadn't shown up to dinner this week.

You refocused your attention on the task at hand, setting down the last plate in front of a hungry young man and turning back to the kitchen. Now you just had to make sure all extra food got packed and stored away properly before you were done for the night, the task of cleaning up and washing dishes thankfully given to a couple of newer members in the community.

You were just finishing up and getting ready to leave when you saw Dwight enter the kitchen and make a beeline towards you. Expecting him to ask for an extra serving of food, since that was part of your deal in exchange for him letting you out of the compound in the past, you held out one of the last leftover plates sitting on the counter. He shook his head, looking around nervously before saying, "that's not why I'm here…I was told to collect you for Negan."

You stared at him in surprise for a few seconds before replying, "Collect me?"

"He wants me to escort you to his private quarters as soon as you're done serving dinner."

You hardly noticed as the plate of food you were holding slid out of your hand, spilled down your shirt, and splattered on the floor. Your head started to feel a little fuzzy and you realized it was because you had been standing there holding your breath and staring at Dwight without responding for way longer than was necessary. Exhaling, you looked down at your now stained shirt and the food at your feet, trying to get your thoughts together enough to form a coherent response. All you wanted to do at the moment was run back to your own quarters and hide until you could better process the idea that Negan not only wanted to meet with you, but that he wanted to do so immediately and in his private quarters.

"Uh, okay. But I need to go back to my room first."

Dwight fidgeted, obviously displeased with your response, "But he said to bring you straight to his…"

"I don't care what he said. I'm not going there looking like this," you said while gesturing to your now sauce-covered shirt. You could tell Dwight wanted to argue, but instead he gritted his teeth and begrudgingly nodded in agreement. You went and asked one of the designated busboys to clean up the spilled plate of food before you turned and left the kitchen, Dwight trailing quietly behind you.

Fifteen minutes later and you now found yourself trailing quietly behind Dwight, the two of you moving down a hall you'd never seen before. You curiously gazed at the multiple closed doors you were walking past, wondering what lay behind them. "Probably the rooms of his many wives" you thought, a lump of anxiety forming in your throat as you wiped your sweaty palms on your clean shirt.

Once back in your room you had not only changed your shirt, but your pants as well. You had told yourself it was because a couple drops of sauce had fallen on them, but you knew it was really because you had been stalling for time. You had also taken down your hair and brushed it out before feeling stupid and proceeding to re-secure it up the tight bun you typically wore. Once again stalling. It wasn't until Dwight had softly knocked on your door that you had allowed yourself to acknowledge that the time for stalling was over and that you had to face the music, so to speak.

Dwight finally stopped in front of a door near the end of the hall and turned to you. He gestured at the closed door silently and stepped back, obviously expecting you to go in without him. Hoping you didn't look as scared shitless as you felt, you took a deep breath and nodded in response. Your hand was slightly shaking as you walked up to the door, turned the knob, and stepped across the threshold.


	4. Checkmate

Closing the door quietly behind you, your eyes began to scan and document your new surroundings. You were in a surprisingly clean room that must be considered Negan's version of a living room. There was a sleek black leather couch pressed up against the wall to your left with a tall bookcase beside it. The bookcase was full of random trinkets and books, which normally would've caught your attention since you loved to read. However, you were too anxious to let your gaze fall on any one item for too long and so you continued to peruse the room.

Looking to the right you saw random end tables that held stacks of papers and more books. There was also a doorway leading to another room. The door was almost the entire way shut, but through the existing crack you swore you saw what looked like the end of a large bed. Trying not to panic at the thought that beyond that door was most likely Negan's bedroom, you jerked your gaze back to your more immediate surroundings. Straight in front of you was a large desk made of some shiny wood so dark it looked almost black. The desk also had stacks of books and papers spread on top of it. If you didn't know any better, you'd swear Negan was a fellow bibliophile. Interesting.

It was only after you had fully taken in all of the inanimate objects that you finally let your gaze trail over to the man who owned not only the items in this room, but what felt like every item and person in the entire compound. It was almost as if you had subconsciously known where he was this entire time, but your brain hadn't wanted to fully acknowledge him yet and so had stalled by staring at everything else in the room first. At this rate you were going to master the art of stalling in no time at all. Too bad that wasn't a skill you could put on your resume.

Negan stood on the other side of the room, his broad back facing you as he stared silently out a large window that must overlook the main grounds of the compound. He hadn't said a word or so much as moved since you entered the room, and his silence caused you to also stay frozen where you were right inside the doorway. Was he waiting for you to say something? Announce yourself? Stand in the doorway until your legs gave out from nervousness? You thought about walking over and sitting down on the couch, but that would give him the upper hand, literally, and you wanted to stay on an even playing field with him. Well, as even a playing field as was possible with your considerable height and size difference.

You were standing there for what felt like an eternity, your mind so immersed with the dilemma of what your next move should be that you jumped about a foot into the air when you heard him clear his throat. You watched warily as he finally turned from the window and fixed his gaze on you. His eyes drank in your appearance, from your slicked back bun and grey t-shirt down to your faded jeans and worn sneakers. It wasn't as if the apocalypse made it easy to be fashionable, but you still felt a little lacking in comparison to his immaculate outfit. How did he even find a leather jacket that fit so well? And only he could pair it with a red scarf and have it look masculine rather than ridiculous. Hell he was even wearing a pair of black leather gloves to complete his "I'm a total badass" image. You felt slightly relieved when you realized that Lucille was not currently part of his ensemble, but chances were she was lying around here somewhere.

"Well hello, doll. The fuck brings you here?"

You jolted at his gruff words as if you'd been shot then quickly glanced from side to side, almost expecting to see that some other "doll" had entered the room. Nope, you were alone. But why would he ask….what if Dwight had…oh you were going to KILL Dwight if he had brought you here under false pretenses.

"Uh…I thought you wanted me here. But if not, that's fine. I'll just be leaving then. Adios."

You started for the door, ready to bolt and go find Dwight so you could give him a slow and painful death, when Negan's chuckle caused you to turn back and face him.

"Oh, right," he said, tapping his palm against his temple as if he had only just remembered. "I did ask you here, didn't I? I wonder why the fuck I did that? Would you like to take a fucking guess?"

You had been in the room with him for not even five minutes and already you felt so off balance that you were pretty sure a gentle breeze could topple you over. Was this another game he was playing? And if so, what was the correct answer to his riddle? Part of you wanted to grovel and apologize and tell him whatever he wanted to hear so that you could get the fuck out of this room. Unfortunately, there was the other part of you that refused to back down and show any weakness or cowardice. Both parts warred inside of you, the offensive versus the defensive. In the end the offensive side kicked the defensive's ass, causing you to take two steps forward into the room and respond in a voice that was surprisingly calm and collected.

"Well, it might have something to do with last week. I believe there was a walker involved, as well as some berries. Ringing any bells?"

He gave a bark of laughter in response, his eyes twinkling as he grinned at you. "You're a fucking riot, doll. Hell, if I'd have known you were this spunky, I'd have fucking sent for you sooner." He walked around to the front of desk with his signature swagger and leaned back against the large wooden structure, his expression once again serious. He crossed his arms over his chest and appeared to be only half joking when he drawled, "so the fucking question now, doll, is how I'm to punish you for leaving the fucking compound."

You tried to swallow around the lump that instantly formed in your throat at his words. "How about I write an apology letter and say 50 Hail Marys?" you asked dryly, causing one side of Negan's lips to quirk upwards into a sideways smirk.

You felt so out of your league trying to verbally spar with him, but you also had a feeling that your wit and refusal to cower might be all that was keeping him in a playful mood. You really hoped you could keep up with him and didn't make a mistake or say something that crossed the line into foolish.

"You really think that would be enough when you not only fucking disobeyed my rule to stay within the sanctuary, but also fucking put yourself in danger and almost got your damn fucking face bit off?" he growled. He showed his pearly whites and lifted one arm to point a glove-covered finger at you and proclaim, "for that, you're gonna do more than fucking pray."

You wished you were actually a religious woman, because perhaps having prayer as a current option would keep your legs from starting to feel as though they were made of Jell-O, or help rid your throat of the lump that now felt as though it had grown to the size of a baseball.

Standing up from the desk, Negan took a few long strides across the room towards you, which in turn caused you to back up a step. "Perhaps I should start having my men watch you more closely, make sure you don't fucking escape again. Maybe we could even get a fucking collar for you, since you apparently need a tighter leash," he growled.

Your eyes felt wide as saucers as you watched Negan take a few more steps towards you, coming dangerously close to invading your personal space. You went to take another step back…only to feel yourself bump into the wall beside the doorway. Negan kept advancing, that damn perfect grin still on his face. Your emotions were currently flying all over the place. You were scared and about to piss your pants, but there was also another unidentifiable emotion that was curling through you. You were embarrassed to admit that when Negan had mentioned the collar you had felt a small rush of heat flare in your stomach and travel lower to settle in an area that you were NOT comfortable acknowledging at the moment.

Negan stopped directly in front of you. He brought up one hand and placed it on the wall beside your head, effectively caging you in. He was so close that you could count the individual teeth on his zippered jacket that was inches from your nose. You knew that if you looked up, his face would be right above yours. That filthy, beautiful mouth of his only inches away…

You wanted him.

The thought hit you in the gut like a ton of bricks as the source of the unidentifiable emotion you were feeling became known: it was desire. Realization hit you like a sledge hammer that you had been trying to deny this from the day you had first met him. It had only grown worse after your encounter in the woods, but you had still been able to fool yourself into thinking that you only felt gratitude towards him for killing the walker and not turning Lucille on you as well. And the disappointment you had felt when he hadn't shown up at dinner this past week? No, you had told yourself you were just annoyed that he acted as though he was above everyone else and wouldn't join them for a meal.

You currently found that your inner denial was crumbling as his musky smell filled your nostrils and his body heat seemed to envelope you like a cloak despite the fact that he hadn't even touched you. Yet.

Oh god, what was wrong with you?! This was wrong on so many levels. The man had multiple wives for Christ's sake! He was violent and domineering and arrogant as hell. None of those qualities should be attractive, and typically they weren't. But on him…

You felt more than saw him grin down at you, and if you listened hard enough you swore you could hear his breath passing in and out between his lips.

"You've gone awfully quiet, doll. Cat got your tongue?"

His voice. God, his voice. It was so deep and rough, like sandpaper running over gravel. And was it just your imagination, or did it sound even lower and huskier than usual?

You knew that you were going to hell for this, but you couldn't seem to stop yourself. Raising your head, you trailed your eyes up over his strong throat and grizzled chin and locked your gaze onto his. You knew that your expression wasn't showcasing only fear anymore. You could feel the flush that had started to spread over your cheeks, and your mouth was parted slightly to bring in enough oxygen to keep up with your accelerated heartbeat.

You couldn't repress a slight gasp when you saw an answering flare of heat enter Negan's eyes. You felt like you were being scorched by his tawny gaze. He brought up the gloved hand not on the wall and gently gripped your chin, the feel of the cool leather causing a slight shiver to go through you. You found yourself unable to break his stare, even though you were certain he could easily read the inner turmoil on your face.

It was he who finally broke eye contact, his gaze dropping down to focus on your parted lips. You felt almost dizzy, as though you were standing on a precipice and unsure which way lay heaven and which way hell.

Negan leaned down slightly until his face was so close to yours that it was difficult to keep him in focus. His lips were mere centimeters away from yours, and you felt the warm puffs of air leave his mouth as he purred, "Checkmate, doll. Your move."


	5. Breaking Rules

You were frozen in place, your brain trying to process the current assault on your senses. The smell of Negan, the feel of his glove-covered hand on your chin, his face right _there_ in front of you, and the sound of his voice all but daring you to lean forward and complete all five senses by having a taste of that luscious mouth.

It had been so long since you had experienced any physical intimacy; in fact, you hadn't even kissed anyone since before the apocalypse began. Having a man so powerful and attractive within reach was almost more than your hormones could take at the moment. The end to your sexual drought was right in front of you, all you had to do was take it. Just move your head forward an inch and…

Break one of his rules.

The thought came rushing through the current fog of your mind, clearing away the desire-filled stupor caused by Negan's close proximity.

One good thing about working in the kitchen and serving the food was that you were able to overhear dozens of conversations on a daily basis. The latest gossip, who was flirting with whom, who was going on what supply run, and any recent conflicts were all common meal topics. Another main topic was Negan's rules, and more specifically what happened to those who broke them. Between overheard banter in the cafeteria and the conversations you'd had with Maria, you knew that Negan had plenty of rules, including ones in regards to sex.

First off, he was completely against any type of sexual assault and abhorred rape. He also didn't tolerate any of his wives cheating on him, even if it was with their actual pre-apocalypse husbands. Lastly, he didn't let any of his wives kiss him. You had laughed at this when Maria first told you, which had caused her to get upset and leave the conversation. You had later apologized for your reaction but still internally thought it was ridiculous, not to mention degrading, that Negan had put forth such a rule and yet had multiple women in the compound who were still willing to sleep with him.

Reorienting yourself to the situation at hand, you closed your eyes to block out Negan's presence. You had come so close to breaking a vital rule; leaning forward and closing the gap between your mouths would probably have put you in even deeper shit than you were already in.

Due to your lack of response, you felt Negan pull his head back so that his breath was no longer on your face. Opening your eyes, you saw him looking down at you with a smug grin on his face as he though he were relishing in your frozen panic.

Anger began to boil in your stomach as you realized that Negan most likely knew what you were thinking. His rules were common knowledge, so of course he would expect you to be aware of them. You realized just how much of a "checkmate" his move had been, since you couldn't escape with him blocking you against the wall but you also couldn't move forward and into him without placing yourself in further punishment for breaking yet another rule.

It was one thing to be maneuvered skillfully into a checkmate position and admit defeat on your own, but Negan had practically bullied you into submission with his actions, not to mention he had toyed with your emotions and forced you to realize just how lonely and devoid of intimacy your life had been this past year.

Despite feeling as if you had been standing there processing all of this for what seemed like eternity, you knew that you had only been silent for a minute, maybe less. But oh, what an enlightening minute it had been.

"Looks like you finally realized who's in fucking charge around here. I must say, I didn't expect you to show defeat so fucking quick, but I guess it's to be expected, what with me being so persuasive and all." Negan's hand lifted from your chin and he took a step back, his other hand dropping off the wall to rest at his side. His expression screamed arrogance and victory, which caused you to grit your teeth in annoyance.

How dare he fuck with you as if you were some toy to play with and then toss away when you were done putting up a fight?! And most of all, how dare he make you want him, make you think that he wanted you too, only to realize that this had all been some messed up game of "chess".

You tried to deny it, but the truth was that part of you still desired him. He looked so damn beautiful standing there in front of you, so sure of himself and his effect on you. He currently appeared unaffected himself, but you hadn't been imagining that flare of desire you had seen in his eyes a couple minutes ago. There was no way that tension-filled moment had been completely one-sided, try as he might to cover it up with sarcasm and a grin.

"Well, doll, now that you've finally accepted your place, which is to be fucking quiet and complacent, I suppose I could ease up a bit on your punishment. Maybe even let you walk out of here without having to punish you at all. What do you say? Did you fucking learn your lesson?" He shook his head and chuckled as you continued to stare at him silently, "Hell, can you even respond anymore? Don't feel bad, I know my presence makes women all swoony and speechless. It's a fucking gift of mine."

It felt as though something snapped inside you at his words. Looking back later, you believed that it was quite possible the snap was your intelligence leaving the building. Your tendency to be "audacious" finally crossed the line into utterly foolish as you pushed yourself off the wall and walked right up to Negan. You relished in the look of surprise on his face as you reached up, curled a hand around the back of his neck, and pulled his lips down onto your own.

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So originally I had intended this to be a quick wham, bam, thank you ma'am smut fic. However, I'm realizing that I stand at a cross roads: I could continue down that path, throw together some hot smut, and construct an ending within the next couple chapters OR I could make this more of a slow burn, add more story to it, and continue it for who knows how long. Thoughts?


	6. Cool Leather & Hot Friction

Author's Note: The comments were unanimous for a slow burn. Therefore, a slow burn is what you shall get!

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This was a mistake. A line had been crossed and now there was no going back.

Negan's lips were slightly dry and softer than expected. His beard and mustache were rough against your chin and upper lip, but surprisingly it wasn't unpleasant. In fact, the sensation was rather erotic as it signified that the person in front of you was all male.

You had meant for the kiss to be purely vindictive; a way of showing Negan that you weren't some "swoony and speechless" little girl like he apparently assumed. In some ways it seemed to have worked because he was currently frozen against you as if in shock from your actions. The thought occurred that you should take advantage of his shock by fleeing before he could contemplate grabbing Lucille and beating the holy hell out of you. That thought was quickly cut short as your brain gave up control to your body, causing you to react to the kiss in ways you hadn't anticipated.

Tendrils of excitement uncurled from where your mouths were fused and traveled through your body, quickly chasing off any and all previously vindictive intent. Your lips softened against his and your hand eased its grip on his nape, sliding upwards until the tips of your fingers were buried in his hair. You were pleasantly surprised at how soft the locks were considering he must use some type of product to keep them slicked back off his face.

It was at this moment that you had every intention of pulling away and making your escape. At least that's what you later told yourself when replaying the scene over and over. Instead, the tables quickly turned as the element of surprise wore off and realization dawned that you no longer had the upper hand of the situation. Negan burst into action, his lips hardening against yours as he pressed forward with a low growl and expertly took control of the kiss. He placed a hand on your hip and pushed forward until you were once again pressed with your back up against the wall and your arm immobile at your side. His other hand curled around the side of your neck, his thumb tipping your head up to the angle he desired. You parted your lips and drew in a breath with a soft gasp at the sensation of a hard thigh sliding between your legs.

Your gasp quickly turned into a moan as Negan took advantage of your response by plunging his tongue past your open lips and effectively claiming your mouth as his. Fingers slid from his hair and down to grip his leather-clad shoulder as if he were all that anchored you to this plane. Feeling incapable of coherent thought, you allowed your body to respond and kissed him back for all you were worth, as if trying to make up for the entire past year of physical abstinence. You groaned when he tugged your bottom lip between his teeth with a chuckle before delving back into your mouth, the mastery of his kiss causing you to feel dizzy with sensation.

The large hand on your hip slid under the hem of your t-shirt, cool leather causing a trail of goose bumps as his fingers traced a lazy pattern across your stomach. You brought up the arm that had been trapped at your side and grasped the front of his jacket, the cool zipper under your palm while the contrasting soft fabric of his scarf caressed the back of your fingers. You involuntarily jerked away at the sensation of his hand on your stomach moving upwards, fingers gliding up over your ribs until they teased the bottom of your bra. Your reaction was more due to the fact that you were ticklish then because you were trying to get away; however, Negan slightly tightened the fingers wrapped around your throat, just enough to reinforce his dominance and silently warn you not to pull away again. You almost moaned in disappointment when his lips lifted from yours, eyes following his mouth as it moved just out of reach.

He lifted the thigh between your legs until it was pressed intimately into your core, causing you to curl your nails into him and utter a whimper that would've been embarrassing if you had enough functioning brain cells to care. He was staring intently at your face and cataloging your responses to his touch. In a feeble attempt to protect your innermost thoughts from his scrutiny, you closed your eyes and turned your head to the side.

Rather than being deterred, Negan brushed his lips over your cheek before tracing a path downward. The combination of his teeth nipping at your vulnerable throat and the friction of his beard on your sensitive flesh caused a full body shiver to ripple through you. This reaction wasn't missed by Negan; you could practically feel him grinning against your skin, his hand moving further upwards to curl over one breast as he nipped at your throat again, this time eliciting a soft moan from you.

"You like that, doll? Bet I can find a few other things you'll like as well," he purred before sucking gently at the base of your neck.

He dipped a finger into the top of your bra and pulled the cup downward. The chilly air hitting your nipple was the equivalent of a bucket of ice water being thrown over your head. _What in the ever living hell were you doing?!_

Your hands uncurled from his shoulders and you pushed against his chest with all your might, causing Negan to stumble backwards a step. A flush of heat went through you as you took in his swollen lips and heavy-lidded eyes, his pupils dilated so that only a thin ring of amber was visible.

Jerking your shirt back down, you extracted yourself from the wall and forced shaky legs into motion. You didn't dare glance back as you darted for the door. At any moment you expected to hear his voice telling you to stop or feel his hand pulling you back against him. Neither of these things happened as you exited the room, but it didn't stop you from sprinting down the hall as if the hounds of hell were at your heels. You didn't stop until you were on the other side of the compound and locked within the safety of your own room. Heart still pounding, you crawled in bed and huddled under the covers, the feel of Negan still on your lips and the sound of his laugh ringing in your ears.


	7. A Brief Respite

A Brief Respite

Sighing for what felt like the hundredth time in the last half hour, you looked at the reflection staring back at you in the small round mirror mounted on the wall. There were slight bags underneath tired eyes due to a lack of sleep the night before. Try as you might, the scene in Negan's room had replayed itself over and over, your brain over analyzing every moment from last night. Refusing to leave your room come morning, you had instead hibernated underneath the covers and drifted in and out of consciousness. Any relief that might've been found from sleep was smashed to pieces by repeated dreams of Negan. Some were nightmares in which he was chasing you through the forest. He always cornered you somehow, his voice taunting that you knew what would happen if you left the compound again. Just as he would raise Lucille to deliver the first blow, you would jolt awake, sitting upright in bed and gasping for breath until your heartbeat slowed to a normal pace.

But not all of the dreams were nightmares. Oh no…not all of them. There were some that caused you to blush just at the thought of them. Tangled limbs, sweat-slicked skin, his husky voice whispering encouragement in your ear as your hips lifted to meet his…

"Alright, that's enough!" you muttered out loud. Great, now you were talking to yourself. Wasn't that the first sign of mental instability? Actually the first sign was probably you initiating a kiss with a man who could go from beating someone to death one minute to cracking jokes the next.

After hiding in your room until early afternoon, you finally forced yourself to crawl out of bed. Tempting as it was to try and call off sick, dinner wasn't going to make itself, and you didn't want word to get back to Negan that you were eschewing your kitchen duties.

You pulled the grey t-shirt from last night up over your head and replaced it with a light blue clone that contrasted nicely with your skin tone. Your hair had escaped its bun from all of the restless tossing and turning and now waved around your shoulders. It was as you were twisting it up into a new bun that something caught your attention in the mirror…something that caused you to drop your hair mid-twist and move closer to the reflective glass in order to inspect the left side of your neck. Eyes widened in panic as you realized just what it was that you were looking at: a hickey. The bastard had left a hickey!

Turning your head from side to side and craning to see every inch of skin from chin to chest, you made sure that there were no other offending red marks, and thankfully there weren't. But what the hell were you supposed to do about this one?! Shaking fingers reached up and delicately touched the small red mark, mind flashing back to the feel of Negan's lips and teeth on your skin. Conflicting emotions of anger and desire shot through you, the desire further fueling the anger, mostly at yourself. Much as you wanted to place the blame on him, it had been you who initiated the kiss, even though you hadn't meant for it to escalate so quickly, or expected him to leave a visible reminder of the encounter upon your flesh.

Pre-apocalypse this wouldn't have been as big of a deal. You'd have reached for some foundation and concealer and viola, the mark would be gone. However, last time you checked the compound didn't have a high market demand for cosmetics.

Cursing, you scanned your room as if expecting a solution to magically appear. You didn't own any turtlenecks, and a hysterical giggle bubbled out of your throat as you realized the irony that while Negan's neck would be covered by soft red fabric, you didn't have one scarf to your name. Perhaps you could just leave your hair down and keep it over one shoulder? Shaking your head, you imagined someone choking on one of your hairs while eating their dinner. That wouldn't work at all. Finally your gaze landed upon a little blue and white box. Contemplating the contents, you gave a sigh of defeat and decided that it was this or nothing.

Walking down the hall towards the cafeteria fifteen minutes later, you reached up and fingered the spot on your neck, which was now covered with a tan band aid. You were still unsure what excuse to use if someone asked about it, but for now you were focused on the fact that you were late, which could potentially ruin the entire dinner schedule.

Walking into the kitchen, you immediately felt more at ease. Sure, your bedroom was your own private space, but the kitchens felt more like your domain. Smiling, you walked over to Ben, one of your "assistant cooks", who was in the middle of opening some canned peas. You could've hugged him when he stated that the food prep had started without you so that the meal wouldn't be served late. If there was anyone you could depend on to help you out when things got tight at dinnertime, it was him.

Ben had helped you acclimate to your duties when you first arrived at the compound and he brought a positive, joyful atmosphere to the kitchen with his charming wit and tendency to be optimistic about any situation. He appeared to be a few years younger than you and had mentioned being some sort of business analyst before the dead took over. After once hearing him grumble about his past life working in a cubicle, you'd discovered that he was one of the few individuals who were glad for the apocalypse since it now meant he had a job that he actually enjoyed.

Looking over at you with twinkling blue eyes half-hidden by shaggy brown hair, Ben's face went from joyful to a slight frown. Realizing too late where he was staring, you turned around and walked over to check on some pots that were simmering on the stove.

"What happened to you?"

 _Shit. Act cool. Don't say anything stupid,_ your subconscious warned.

Turning back around, you put on what was hopefully a slightly confused expression and replied, "huh?" _Wow so intelligent. You're going to win an award for lamest response ever._

"What happened to your neck?" Ben asked, nodding his head towards you and staring at the band aid.

"Oh..uh, this? I, um…I got bit." _God damnit why would you say that! Okay, so it's the truth in a way, but still!_

"Bit? Seeing as how you're not moaning and trying to eat me, I'm assuming you don't mean by a walker?" Ben joked, although you could tell he wasn't going to let you off the hook so easily.

"Ha, no. It's a bug bite. Must've been a mosquito or spider or something. I put the band aid on so I wouldn't be tempted to scratch at it." _There you go, much better._

"Gotcha. Well, if it gets worse you should go have the nurse look at it. I'm sure they have some type of cream or something to stop the itch."

"Yea, you're right. I'll definitely do that," you agreed with a forced smile.

Ben gave you one of his lop-sided grins in response and turned his attention back to the cans in front of him.

Letting out the breath you hadn't realized you'd been holding, you refocused on the dinner at hand, confident that any crisis had been averted with your explanation. In fact, you felt almost giddy all of a sudden. After worrying and over analyzing all day, you finally felt able to relax. Ben whistled happily in the background as you stirred the contents of the pots on the stove. About a dozen individuals went about their specific tasks of preparing the cafeteria for diners and putting together the meal. Everything was going smoothly and everyone appeared to be in a good mood, smiling and occasionally laughing with one another as they worked. The clinks and clanks of dishes and the simmering hiss of food being cooked were like a soothing balm on your anxiety. This was a safe zone. Here you felt confident and in control of the situation, able to focus on the task at hand rather than worrying about the events of last night.

All of a sudden it was as if the atmosphere did a complete one-eighty. Ben stopped whistling, the clinking stopped, even the sauce bubbling on the stove seemed to realize that it was being too loud and quieted itself. Looking up, you felt the hair on the back of your neck stand up at the eerie sight of all your kitchen staff silent and frozen in mid-action. All eyes were riveted to a spot over your head in the direction of the kitchen entrance. Your heart dropped to your stomach as you slowly turned towards the direction of the stares, expecting to see a herd of walkers or an enemy group holding you at gunpoint. Neither of these things were what met your gaze.

Lucille hanging from one hand and the smirk that now literally haunted your dreams on his face, Negan sauntered into the kitchen and surveyed the area before exclaiming, "Hope you hid all the dead roaches and rotten shit. I'm here to conduct a fucking inspection."


	8. Simmering Jealousy

Thank you to everyone who has taken the time to read this! And a special thanks to those who have subscribed, commented, and left kudos. Y'all are the BEST!

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Negan walked over and propped a hip on the counter a couple feet away from the stove. Without even glancing in your direction, he lifted the arm not holding Lucille and swept it out in front of him while commanding, "The fuck you all staring at? Get back to work!"

It was as if someone had hit play on a movie that had previously been paused; everyone jolted into action at the same time, some people bumping into one another in their clamor to get to their designated posts. The previous light-hearted atmosphere was gone and in its place was an eerie silence and cold professionalism that made you, and probably everyone else, feel instantly on edge.

Much as you wanted to put some space between you and Negan, the food on the stove couldn't be left unattended since it was almost finished. A sigh of relief left you when Negan stood up off the counter and wandered over to where a female staff member named Trixie was pulling rolls out of the oven and arranging them in baskets to be set on the cafeteria tables. Discreetly watching out of the corner of your eye, you saw Negan reach into one of the baskets and pick up a roll with his gloved hand. A quiet snort of laughter escaped you at the look on his face when he popped the still scalding-hot roll into his mouth and realized his mistake. Served him right, trying to steal food before it was finished being prepared.

You almost rolled your eyes when not even a few seconds later Trixie hurried to offer Negan a cool glass of water to combat the burn of the overheated ball of dough. He took the glass and said something inaudible to the girl, but you were sure it had the word "doll" or "sweetheart" in it because a blush heated the young girl's cheeks and she all but fluttered her lashes in response. Trixie had just arrived at the compound a few days ago and had been assigned to the kitchen staff. She looked young, barely over 18, and flirted with everything that moved. You didn't look down on her for it; she was an attractive young girl and during times like these people had to work with whatever strengths they had been gifted. It was actually a wonder Negan hadn't asked her to be one of his wives yet. Perhaps going after jailbait was beyond even his sometimes questionable morals. Feeling your stare, she looked over in your direction. Her eyes widened at the stern look on your face and she mouthed "sorry" before grabbing a couple baskets of rolls and taking off for the door leading to the cafeteria.

Turning back to the stove, you stirred the contents of the pot a little more furiously than needed. It's not like you cared if Negan flirted with the girl, but the least he could do was keep it out of your kitchen. Granted the kitchen wasn't yours per say, but it would be a lie to say you didn't feel as if it were. Not to mention that you were protective of both it and your staff, which was why you had silently warned Trixie away from Negan. Yes, that was why you had given her that look; there was no other possible reason. Your subconscious tried to whisper _liar_ but the prideful part of you quickly beat the subconscious to a pulp.

You felt the hair along your arms and back of your neck stand to attention, a reaction you were quickly realizing signified that Negan was near. You felt more than saw him come up behind you and peer over your left shoulder at the contents of the pots on the stove. He once again propped a hip on the counter, this time so close that if you lifted your arm it would be easy to reach out and touch him.

"Not sure what that sludge is, but at least it doesn't smell like shit," he jeered.

Sludge?! You were quite proud of yourself for taking the extra jars of peanut butter and canned vegetables in the pantry and concocting a creative new recipe.

Looking up at him with what was hopefully a calm expression you replied dryly, "It's a peanut sauce for the stir fry. Hope you're not allergic to nuts."

"Never broke out in any fucking hives while jerking off, so apparently I'm safe."

Unable to come up with any response other than to gap your mouth open and shut like a fish, you decided to stick with silence and stay focused on the "sludge" bubbling on the stove.

After what felt like an eternity of silence, Negan leaned closer into your peripheral vision; hoping that ignoring him would cause him to wander off and annoy someone else, you stayed focused on the food in front of you and tried to act as if you didn't see him. This plan backfired when you felt a gloved finger trail over the spot on your neck covered by the band aid.

Jerking away from his touch in shock, you slapped a hand over your neck to make sure the mark was still covered. Your eyes darted around the kitchen, but thankfully no one seemed to have noticed what had just happened. Negan was staring intently at your neck in a way that caused a small shiver to go up your spine. Oh god, he probably knew what was under the band aid. In fact, you wouldn't be surprised if he had created the mark on purpose as some sick form of psychological warfare designed to reinforce his authority over you.

His silent staring unnerved you more than his vulgar statements. Part of you wanted to run out of the kitchen and as far away from him as possible. Another part of you was cataloging his features and the memories they brought up from last night. His beard and how it had felt against your skin, his lips…

"Is the sauce ready, boss?" a voice to your right asked, jolting you back to reality.

Ben was standing beside you with a tray of serving bowls filled with rice and vegetables. He had a worried expression on his face and his gaze jumped from you to Negan and back again, as if silently asking if you were all right. Knowing Negan couldn't see your face, you rolled your eyes as if to say "what an asshole" and smiled at Ben in obvious thanks for the interruption. Ben grinned in response and put the tray on the counter, handing you bowls one by one so that you could spoon sauce onto the servings of stir fry. Even though you could still feel Negan standing too close for comfort, Ben's calming presence helped decrease the previous tension. He chatted away to you about which tasks were complete and how many tables were filled with hungry compound members. Technically these were facts that you should already know, and later you'd make sure to profusely thank Ben for helping you out so much today. You were completely off your game, and dinner would've been late and probably a total shit-show if it weren't for him. You knew the man standing behind you was to blame for all of this; you just prayed it wasn't as obvious to Ben or the rest of the kitchen staff that you were off kilter.

After handing him back the last bowl, Ben signaled for another staff member to come get the tray and take it out to the cafeteria to serve diners.

"Thank you so much, Ben," you praised, trying to convey in that one statement that you weren't just talking about him handing you the bowls.

Looking back at you with his signature happy-go-lucky smile in place, he reached out and gave your shoulder a comforting squeeze before saying loudly enough for Negan to hear, "no problem, boss lady. Besides, this dinner was your creation; we'd be screwed without you guiding us every step of the way."

After Ben walked off, you glanced back to Negan, who was staring after Ben with a scowl on his handsome face.

Trixie sashayed over with a new tray of rice and vegetable bowls that needed sauce, effectively drawing your attention back to the task at hand. Unfortunately, Trixie appeared to be less focused on helping with the meal and more inclined to preen for the gruff man behind you. Flicking her hair and giggling in between every other word, she gave a dramatic recount of the latest scandal she had overheard from diners. Currently not in the mood to worry about frivolous gossip, you zoned out of the conversation and nodded noncommittally as she spoke. Her eyes strayed towards Negan so often that at one point she almost dropped one of the bowls when you were trying to hand it back to her. Irritated, you sent her to go get another tray so that you could finish up this one on your own and avoid any unnecessary spills.

After finishing the last bowl, you turned towards Negan and offered it to him. "Would you like to try some sludge?"

Expecting him to have some sarcastic response, you were surprised when he just looked at you silently, his expression stone-cold and devoid of his usual smirk.

"You think I'm going to eat while fucking standing up and without washing my fucking hands first? I'll eat the fucking shit in my fucking room, at a fucking table, like a fucking civilized human being."

Despite your annoyance at his curt response, the chance to get him out of the kitchen and away from your personal space caused you to nod in agreement.

"Of course. I'll make up a tray for one of your wives to pick up and…"

"No," he interrupted harshly with a shake of his head. "You'll bring the fucking meal to my room, no one else. I expect it to fucking arrive in exactly half an hour."

With that he turned and stormed out of the kitchen. Staring at the spot where he had disappeared, you swore you could actually hear the hiss of your brain cells dying as they tried frantically and unsuccessfully to compute what the fuck had just happened.

It appeared you weren't the only one. Glancing to the left, you saw Trixie standing a few feet away with a tray of bowls in her hands. Her mouth was hanging open in surprise and she stared at you in disbelief; it was obvious that she had heard your little exchange with Negan. Great. Just fucking great.


	9. The Truth Hurts

Half an hour later you found yourself carrying a dinner tray down the hall that was quickly becoming all too familiar. Stopping at Negan's door, you balanced the tray on one hand and used the other to knock softly.

A few seconds later the door opened and Negan stood staring down at you with a stern expression.

"You're three fucking minutes late."

It took a great deal of willpower not to roll your eyes at his greeting. You had no clue why he was in such a piss-poor mood today, but lack of sleep and your emotions being thrown all over the place courtesy of Negan meant that you were running short on patience.

Stepping into the room, memories assaulted you from last night. A small blush heated your cheeks when you glanced over to the section of wall where you had been pressed less than 24 hours ago. Averting your eyes from the spot, you glanced around the room, unsure where to put down the tray. The desk was still covered with papers and books, as were all the end tables. The dilemma was solved when Negan went over to the doorway on your right and gestured for you to precede him inside.

A small bubble of panic hit at the realization that he was expecting you to go into what was most likely his bedroom. Briefly considering throwing the tray up in the air and bolting, you instead squared your shoulders and marched through the doorway. As soon as the meal was set, you could hightail it out of there, get back to the kitchen, and help with the rest of the cleanup.

Walking into Negan's bedroom, your eyes widened at the splendor of the large room and its lavish décor. You had been wrong in thinking the first room was his living area. It was more equivalent to a small work area and this…this was the fanciest room you had seen since before the apocalypse began. There was even a damn chandelier hanging from the ceiling!

There were large windows all along the walls to your left and straight ahead, which allowed a great deal of sunlight to filter into the room. Inside the doorway to the left was a white camelback couch that looked to be antique and extremely comfortable. To the right was a black marble fireplace with a large mirror taking up the entire wall above the mantel. Past the fireplace was a dark wooden bureau dresser that also looked to be antique. The floor was silver and grey swirled linoleum but in the middle of the room was a large square carpet that was white with a thick black border. The carpet framed the largest piece of furniture in the room, the one thing you had been prepared for but still felt embarrassed to look at: Negan's king-sized bed. The giant four-poster was made of black wood and had a padded headboard that was pressed up against the wall to the left. And of course he would have dark red satin sheets. They were currently drawn tight and neatly folded over the tall mattress, but you couldn't help wondering how recently they had been rumpled and occupied by one of his wives. Hell he could fit all of his wives on there at once if he so desired.

Jerking your gaze away from the bed, you saw that Negan was on the other side of the room where two white armchairs sat on either side of a round black table just big enough for two people to sit and eat. Giving the bed as wide a berth as possible, you crossed the room to join him and set the tray on the table.

You could feel him staring as you arranged the bowl of food and plate of rolls, folding a napkin and neatly placing the silverware on top. Taking the glass of ice, you filled it with water from a pitcher before placing them both on the table, leaving you with an empty tray and a feeling of relief that the job was done. Stepping back, you motioned that you were finished and watched as Negan took off his gloves and sat down at the table, his gaze scrutinizing every detail of the meal in front of him.

"Bon appetite," you said, turning to leave the room.

You barely made it two steps before Negan asked, "Where the fuck do you think you're going?"

Freezing, you slowly turned back around before replying, "I was just going back to the kitchen so that I could…"

"No. Sit." Negan ordered.

 _Fuck_. _Fucking fuck._

Wondering how far you could make it before he got out of the chair and caught you, the idea of running seemed pointless since it was likely you wouldn't even make it as far as the next room.

Shuffling unwillingly across the linoleum, you sat down in the empty chair and stared down at the hands in your lap. Thinking that escape had been imminent, you hadn't considered that he'd expect you to stay while he ate. You felt like a bird who had found its cage door open, only to fly out and hit a glass window.

"Don't look so fucking happy to be here," he provoked, stuffing half a roll into his mouth.

Looking down at the bread he exclaimed, "Damn these are fucking good! You should put Trixie on roll duty every night."

Annoyance at him bringing up Trixie caused you to lift your head and meet his gaze.

"I'm surprised you didn't ask her to bring the tray instead. She seemed more than willing to serve you in whatever way you desire," you retorted.

"Probably, but fucking barely legal teens isn't really my thing. Although I will say, she does have a nice little ass on her," he said with a smirk before taking a bite of stir fry.

Wishing that you could take the bowl and throw the hot food all over his arrogant and maddeningly handsome face, you instead remained silent and tried not to let him know that his statement had bothered you. Trixie was an adult; she could fuck whoever she wanted. However, the thought of her spread out on the large bed behind you caused the spark of an emotion that you didn't want to acknowledge. _It's called jealousy_ your subconscious whispered, but you promptly pushed the thought aside and told your subconscious to shut the fuck up.

"Despite the fact that peanut butter belongs on top of jelly and not rice, this shit ain't too fucking bad," he remarked while dipping a piece of roll into the sauce.

Shocked to hear what actually sounded like a compliment coming from his lips, you mumbled a quiet "thank you" in response.

"Yea, you and Benny boy did a good job. By the way, how long have you two been fucking?" he asked, all trace of a smirk gone as he put down his spoon and looked at you.

"Excuse me?!" you all but screeched, utterly and completely shocked by his question. "Ben and I don't….we're not…"

"Oh come on, doll. You expect me to fucking believe that he gives you those puppy dog eyes and all but kisses your fucking ass, and you're not putting out for him? Poor fuck. Now I almost feel sorry for him."

You weren't shocked any more. Oh no, you were pissed. Infuriatingly pissed. The smart move would be to stay silent and not let your emotions take over, but Negan had been pushing your buttons for the last 24 hours and you were at the breaking point.

"Believe it or not, it IS possible to be nice to someone without expecting them to fuck you. Perhaps you could take a lesson from Ben and give that a try."

If looks could kill, then you'd be well on your way to deceased from the expression on Negan's face. The time for snark and humor had passed and now you were both pissed. Was about damn time you were both on the same emotional wavelength.

"You saying I'm not fucking nice, doll?" he growled.

Refusing to back down, you countered, "Name one genuinely nice thing you've done for me that hasn't furthered your own agenda."

He paused a few seconds before responding, "I saved your ass from a fucking walker even though you defied my rule to stay in the fucking compound."

"And you've been holding it against me ever since! It doesn't count as being nice if you're going to use it as leverage against the person. That's twisting the situation to benefit you, as usual."

"Does it count as being nice if it's a lie? Because if so, I was super fucking nice just now when I said the food you made didn't taste like shit," he snarled.

Still angry, but also now a little hurt, you replied coldly, "well it doesn't count as being nice now that you threw it back in my face."

"Well you asked, so now you fucking know," he stated calmly, picking up the glass and taking a gulp of water.

"Any other critiques about my cooking now that we're on the subject? You did say there was an inspection, or was that a lie as well?"

Putting down the glass, he looked thoughtful before answering, "Well, now that you mention it, some people were requesting some fucking dessert once in a while. Probably to counteract the taste of those weird ass sauces."

Your palms were clenched so tightly that nails cut into your palms and your body practically vibrated with anger. A cold smile lifted your lips as you sweetly replied, "Well, why didn't you say so? If I'd have known that, I'd have made a pie or crisp out of the berries I picked a few weeks ago."

It was probably a mistake to antagonize him, but you wanted a reaction out of Negan. You wanted him to feel as insulted and taken off guard as you were, consequences be damned.

"A few weeks ago! How many fucking times have you fucking snuck out?" he roared, abruptly pushing his chair back and standing up.

Scrambling out of the chair, you stood your ground as Negan rounded the table and advanced until your bodies were inches apart.

"I should tan your fucking hide!" he snarled, his large frame towering over yours threateningly.

Your logical half was pissing its pants right about now, but your irrational half was just getting warmed up. "You know what? I'm sick to death of you being so god damn mean! First you pull me from my kitchen duties early and tell me to serve you dinner and watch you eat. Then in the span of about ten minutes you have the nerve to accuse me of fucking my friend, you criticize my cooking, and then you finish it off with a threat of physical violence." Staring him square in the eye, you all but dared him to deny that he had been a royal dick this evening.

Instead he slowly curled his lips up over his teeth in a wolfy grin and pointed out, "That's rich coming from the woman who drug ME from my duties out in the fucking woods because she was about to be walker chow. Not to mention that in the same span of ten minutes you've accused me of wanting to fuck a teenager, criticized my moral character by saying that I don't know how to be fucking nice, and then gloated that you've been repeatedly defying my rules to stay in the fucking compound. Hello, pot. My name is kettle."

You had to admit, he had you there. Hating that he was right, you glared at him and stated, "I despise you."

"You didn't seem to despise me last night. As I recall, it was you who pressed those pretty little lips against mine and broke my cardinal no-kissing rule, all so you could get a taste of yours truly."

Anger dissipated so fast that you felt like a deflated balloon. He was right. Everything he had just said about you was true, which meant that…God, were you really any better than he was?

Staring up at him silently, you had no more verbal ammunition to throw at him. The saying "point a finger at someone and there's three pointing back at you" couldn't be more accurate right now.

Negan gazed down at you, his eyes trailing over your features before dropping down to your neck. Your muscles tensed as he lifted a hand and slowly peeled the band aid off your neck. His fingers felt nothing like the cool leather gloves that you had previously felt on your skin. They were warm and slightly rough as he gently ran the tip of one over the mark on your neck. His eyes darkened as he stared at the spot almost as if in awe.

Intimidated by the look on his face, you started taking steps backwards to get out of his reach. You halted suddenly when he ordered, "take another fucking step and I won't be responsible for my actions."

It took you a few seconds to realize what he meant, but then it registered that you had been backing up not towards the door as you had hoped, but towards his bed. A few more steps and the back of your legs would probably hit the mattress. A vision flashed through your mind of Negan pushing you back onto the red sheets before crawling on top of you. This vision was quickly dashed at the thought that at least five other women had already been in that bed before you.

Holding the band aid up between his thumb and forefinger he declared, "You can accuse me all you want, doll, but I already know I'm a mean motherfucker. At least I don't deny who I am. I don't try to slap band aids over the parts of myself others might not like and pretend they don't fucking exist. You can't keep covering up the imperfect parts or you'll become as fucking lifeless as the walking dead outside these walls."

His words felt as though they were cutting straight to your soul. You didn't want to acknowledge how accurate his analogy was, how much of your true thoughts and feelings you covered up with a smile or sarcastic response so that others stayed at an emotional distance. All of a sudden you were exhausted; all fight was gone and in its place was the strong desire to curl up in a ball and cry until sleep claimed you.

Hoping that he didn't notice the slight tremble of your bottom lip, you gathered enough mental energy to "cover up" your exhaustion with one more sarcastic response.

"Would you be so _genuinely nice_ as to let me leave now?"

Looking at you with a slight frown on his face, Negan nodded silently.

Without waiting for any further response, you turned around and walked woodenly across the room. It wasn't until you made it out of Negan's sight and into the empty hallway that you felt a tear slowly trickle down your cheek.


	10. A Berry Big Surprise

Thanks to a full night of (mostly) dreamless sleep, you found yourself more alert and ready to tackle the day upon waking the next morning. After throwing on yet another generic t-shirt, this one a faded peach color, with your worn jeans and sneakers, you decided to head outside for some much needed vitamin D.

After spending so much time in your room yesterday, you felt a bit stir crazy, especially since this was the longest period of time you'd gone without your weekly forest adventures. You didn't feel brave enough to ask Dwight to help you get past the fence again; not that he was likely to agree anyways after what happened last time. The only option left was to find a quiet spot outside the building but still inside the fences. Unfortunately, the area was mostly paved and severely lacking in any vegetation aside from the man-made garden around back that housed some basic vegetables.

Choosing an empty picnic table which was sitting near the front corner of the large factory-type building that made up the compound, you sat down and placed a yellow notepad and pencil on the table in front of you. Surveying the area, there were few people outside at this time; most were probably inside finishing breakfast. Except for dinner, the only meal offered was some dull oatmeal for breakfast every morning. Since that required hardly any prep work, Ben insisted on serving it himself, and usually a few of the newer kitchen members took shifts helping him out. There were a few times when you had tried to help, but he had gently nudged you out of the kitchen, saying that you spent enough time and effort planning and cooking the daily dinners. A bit hypocritical since you swore Ben lived in the kitchen; sometimes you glanced around the corners of the pantry expecting to see a cot and blanket as proof that he never left.

Lifting your face to the sun, you soaked in its rays. It wasn't late enough in the morning for the heat to be sweltering, but it was well on its way. Turning your attention to the notepad, you started outlining the potential meals for the upcoming week, listing the ingredients you knew were plentiful in the pantry and trying to think of both classic recipes as well as some new and interesting combinations to attempt.

You were so absorbed in the notepad that you didn't realize anyone had walked up to the table until your peripheral vision caught someone sitting down on your right. Looking up, Maria gave a little wave and smile.

"Mind if I join you?"

"No, of course not; how have you been?" you asked, putting down your pencil and turning your attention to the middle-aged woman beside you.

Maria had skin a few shades darker than your own and clear brown eyes that always appeared calm and comforting. Her dark hair hung in loose curls slightly past her shoulders and she was wearing an outfit that even pre-apocalypse would've probably cost more than you could ever afford. In fact, the black, low-cut halter top alone probably cost more than your entire outfit. You knew that Negan made sure his wives wore nice clothes, and apparently even nicer lingerie, but to you it just contributed a little too much to the trophy wife stereotype. Well, trophy _wives_ to be more exact.

After chatting for a few minutes about neutral topics such as the weather (hot as hell as usual) and how things were going in the kitchen, you lapsed into a comfortable silence. Or at least you thought it was comfortable, until you noticed that Maria had started wringing her hands nervously and was staring down at the ground.

"Is something wrong?" you asked with concern.

"No, I mean, maybe. There's just some gossip that's been going around the compound, and I think I should bring it to your attention before you hear it from someone else."

Furrowing your brows in confusion you replied, "What did you hear?"

"Well, I'm sure it's not true, but apparently it's been spread that you…had dinner with Negan last night in his private quarters." She hurried quietly through the last half of the sentence, as if embarrassed to say the words aloud.

Freezing in shock, you stared at Maria as if she had just slapped you across the face, which verbally she had. You swallowed the lump in your throat, and it felt like shards of ice going the whole way down. _Think think THINK. How the hell would they know…_

"Trixie," you growled menacingly, the pieces finally falling into place. She had overheard Negan telling you to bring him dinner, and the little minx had gone and told who knows how many people. Hell, she could've just told a few other kitchen staff and it still would've filtered through the whole compound by morning. News such as that would spread faster than a forest fire.

Nodding in agreement, Maria confirmed, "She told a few tables at dinner last night. They wanted to give you their compliments on the food, and I overheard her telling them that she'd relay the message when you got back from dinner with Negan. The whole cafeteria was murmuring about it by the time I left."

This couldn't be happening; no, this had to be a nightmare. At any second you were going to wake up in your bed and once again curse Negan for invading your dreams. Reaching over with one hand, you pinched the skin of your arm, but alas, there was only pain. Not a dream after all. Fuck.

Wanting to go off on a rage and find Trixie so that you could wring her damn little neck, you instead sat there silently, taking deep breaths in an effort to calm yourself down. Getting angry, especially in front of others, would only cause more gossip and make you look guilty.

Instead you forced a smile on your face and laughed, "Wow, she really does have an active imagination. Negan came into the kitchen last night to do an inspection and he asked me to bring him a tray so he could eat in his room. I dropped the food off at his door and that was it."

Looking at you curiously, Maria inquired, "So you didn't go inside his room or eat with him?"

"Pfft, hell no. Why would I do that?"

Leaning in closer to Maria as if you were about to tell her top-secret information, you whispered, "Actually, I think Trixie is jealous. You should've seen the way she was flirting with Negan every chance she got. It probably really smacked her ego that after all that effort, he ordered me to drop off the tray and not her."

Rolling her eyes, Maria smiled in relief. "I knew there had to be some twist to the story. That girl sure is a handful. I'll be sure to let the rest of Negan's wives know what really happened. They were wondering if we should make some room for you as wife number six."

You could feel sweat roll down your back from the effort it took to maintain your smile and laugh in response. "Tell them there's no need to make room, at least not unless Trixie successfully digs her claws into Negan."

"Such a shame. If you joined us, then we could sit around talking like this all the time," Maria teased.

The comment was obviously meant as a joke, but you still felt your hackles rise. "Much as I love our chats, that's not happening. Sorry, but Negan is way too brash and condescending for me to be interested."

Her smile dropping slightly, Maria became a little defensive. "He's really not that bad. He treats all of us fairly and equally and he never mistreats us."

"You mean so long as you follow all his rules, but what happens if you break one? Like heaven forbid you kiss the guy or something, what happens then?"

You tried to act facetious, but the question was one that had seriously been bothering you since the other night. What usually happened when someone kissed Negan? And should you be worried?

"Well, I told you what happens if one of us cheats on him. Take a look at Dwight's face if you need a reminder. But as far as kissing him, I honestly don't know what would happen. To my knowledge no one has ever been foolish enough to do so, probably because none of us want to find out how he would react."

It was as you were processing Maria's response that you saw a loading van pull up around the side of the building and park itself close to the front entrance. Maria turned and watched as well as several men came out of the building, some carrying duffel bags and others carrying armloads of guns, which they started loading into the van.

Dwight also walked out of the entrance with a duffel bag over his own shoulder. Shouting to get his attention, you waved him over when he looked in your direction. He hesitated, looking over at the van as if debating, before quickly walking across the asphalt towards the picnic table.

"What's going on?" you questioned.

"Negan wants to make a supply run."

"Where at?" You knew you were being a bit interrogative, but curiosity had gotten the best of you.

"It's a new town we haven't tried yet, bout a day's drive out."

"That's a lot of guns for a supply run."

Dwight looked slightly annoyed that you were hammering him with questions, but you knew that he would answer just about anything you asked. Perhaps it was because he was a nice guy, or perhaps it was because he knew you had blackmail on him since he was the one who had been letting you out of the compound.

"We're stopping by Alexandria on the way back to collect half their inventory. After last time, Negan wants to make sure Rick hasn't convinced the town to retaliate again. Hence the guns."

"Makes sense," Maria added.

"Yea. I gotta get back before I get yelled at for dilly-dallying," he said and quickly walked off back towards the van.

"That Rick has a real set of balls on him," Maria commented.

You didn't respond because it was then that Negan walked out of the front entrance of the building, effectively capturing your full attention. He walked through the back-and-forth parade of men like Moses parting the red sea, Lucille dangling from one hand. The few bystanders that had come outside to watch quickly fell to their knees when they saw him. You were never able to get over how weird that was, the way most people kneeled at his feet anytime he stepped into a room. It was as if they thought he was a king or something. To your knowledge they had never been told to kneel, so it was an automatic gesture on their part.

Snorting and rolling your eyes, you finally tore your gaze away to look back at Maria. "Good grief," you mocked.

"You better be careful," she advised. "Even if others don't agree with Negan, at least they hide it and show respect. Your obvious dislike might come back to bite you in the ass, especially if he ever finds out."

 _Pretty sure he already knows,_ you thought to yourself, thinking back to your words last night. _I despise you._

But did you really? It didn't seem as cut and dry as that, but for now clinging onto dislike seemed to be the safest option. He would probably say your dislike was another band aid for some deeper emotion, but he could go to hell.

You and Maria watched silently as the men finished loading up the van while Negan barked orders, the now increasingly brutal sun reflecting off his leather jacket. You had to admit that he had a commanding presence; sure he was taller than most of the men, but it was more than that. While built fairly lean, he gave off vibes of being larger than he was. It would be immediately obvious to anyone who looked at him that he was in charge and not someone to be fucked with.

 _But you did fuck with him, at least verbally. You could probably fuck with him in other ways too if you wanted…_

You really wished there was a damn shrink in this compound, because your subconscious was so beyond fucked up at times.

The men had finished loading the van and were starting to load themselves into it. Negan stood beside the passenger door and ran a gloved hand over his beard while surveying the compound. Goosebumps broke out on your arms when his eyes collided with yours across the sea of asphalt. You could feel your face flushing and prayed that it wasn't noticeable from this distance. It was probably just your imagination or the beginnings of heat stroke, but you swore his mouth quirked upwards in a little smirk before he turned and climbed up into the van.

Jerking your gaze sideways to Maria, you were relieved to see that she was staring off in a different direction as if in her own little world. Getting up from the table, you excused yourself with a smile and promised to meet up with her again sometime soon.

Walking down the hall to the kitchen, you considered the fact that Negan would be gone from the compound for at least the next two days. There was definitely the feeling of relief, as if you could breathe a little easier knowing he was gone. There was also an underlying tingle so small it took you a minute to identify the feeling as anxiety. Although why the hell would you be anxious? It's not like you could possibly be _worried_ about him going to Alexandria. In fact, if you were lucky Rick would give him one hell of a retaliation and maybe take his ego down a few pegs.

Upon entering the kitchen, you saw that Ben was at the sinks washing dirty breakfast bowls crusted with oatmeal. He grinned happily in greeting and waved a wet hand covered in soap suds. Meaning to go over the meal plan you had written down, you set the notepad on a table instead and decided to go help him.

You were distracted when Ben nodded at a spot to your right and stated, "There's a package for you."

Confused, you looked in the direction he had nodded and saw a plastic grey storage bin sitting on a nearby counter. It was about the size of a large microwave and had a lid secured over the top of it.

"What is it?" you asked, thinking maybe it was a new shipment of cans or some other type of food.

Ben shrugged in response, his smile still in place. "It wasn't here when I came in this morning. After serving breakfast I went into the back to take inventory since Negan wanted a list of foods we were low on for the supply run. When I came back the bin was on the counter and had your name on it. I haven't seen anyone else in here today so I have no clue who it's from, but I figured I'd wait for you to open it."

Walking over to the bin, you saw a folded piece of paper laying on top with your name written on the front. Picking up the paper, you unfolded it and saw that there were some words scrawled across the inside. It was only one sentence, but your eyes re-read the words about a half dozen times in an effort to process what they meant.

 _ **Now you can't say that I don't know how to be nice**_

There was no signature, but you knew those words could only come from one person.

You dropped the paper on the counter and eyed the bin warily, as if afraid it would turn into a snake and bite you. Realizing that Ben was probably watching, you calmly reached up, lifted the lid, and peered inside.

The container was filled to the brim…with hawthorn berries.


	11. Rollercoaster

It wasn't until five days later that you decided to utilize the berries.

Dwight had said that the supply run was at a town about a day's drive each way, so it was expected that Negan and his men wouldn't be back for a few days. However, yesterday afternoon had marked day four since they had left the compound, which was a little longer than anyone had expected them to be gone. You were starting to think that something bad had happened at Alexandria when you got word during dinner last night that Negan and his men had returned. You had been helping Ben and the rest of the staff pack up the dinner leftovers when Trixie had galloped in from the cafeteria and stated that the supply run was a success and everyone had arrived back safely.

You could say you hadn't felt a tingle of relief at the news, but it would be a lie.

You had done a lot of thinking in the four days that Negan was gone. Threat of imminent death probably couldn't wring a verbal confession from you, but internally you had come to terms with the fact that you had actually kind of missed the asshole while he was gone. The compound had seemed so much quieter and almost empty without his large presence and sarcastic comments to fill it. Even though you had only dealt with him privately for two evenings in a row, he had already gotten into your head and taken up way more space than you were comfortable with.

At first you reasoned that he took up so much of your thoughts because he was so god damn attractive, or perhaps you had a kink for volatile men in power that was just now making itself known. But it seemed to be, just maybe, a little bit more than that.

Negan was the first person post-apocalypse who was able to see through your bullshit "everything is fine" façade. Hell, even the kitchen staff you worked with every day, including Ben, couldn't tell when you were truly upset or hiding something from them. Neither could Maria, and she had known you for longer than anyone else in the compound. It was way too easy to convince others that you didn't have any worries, that life was just peachy, and that you were never sad, upset, or lonely.

Negan, on the other hand, saw right through the masquerade. After a handful of interactions he was suddenly telling you things about yourself that deep down you had known as the truth but refused to acknowledge, at least until he had verbally smacked you in the face with them.

He was right, covering up emotions and trying so hard to give off a perfect image was exhausting, and sometimes it felt as though you were losing your identity in the process. Only with Negan had your control faltered, allowing you to express anger and frustration. The ability to show and say how you really felt was liberating, which was ironic since originally he had seemed like the one person who you would have to work extra hard to maintain a professional and emotionless façade around.

Professional and emotionless was exactly how things had been with him, at least until the fated afternoon when he found you roaming the forest. Since then it was as if you had stepped onto a rollercoaster that had promptly sailed off the tracks, leaving you with the decision to either grip the safety bar in fear or throw your hands up in the air and go along for the ride. Lately it seemed as if your hands had let go of the safety bar, but only barely. They itched to grab back on again, to feel secure and comfortable, but they also itched to raise themselves over your head and embrace the unknown. Embrace the possibility of actually letting loose and being yourself again, the real you, if you could still remember how to do so.

And of course just when you were starting to feel vulnerable, when the best defensive move was to cling onto a dislike for his selfishness, he went and did something totally un-Negan-like. He actually left you a god damn _present_. It wasn't something shiny or fancy like lingerie (barf) or flowers (double barf). Instead he had gotten something that you had actually been longing for ever since unwillingly abandoning the basket of berries in the forest almost two weeks ago.

From anyone else such a gift wouldn't have been a big deal, but from him it was like the equivalent of a walker refusing to bite a living person. It just didn't seem in their nature to go against instinct like that, and it didn't seem in Negan's nature to do something that didn't directly benefit him or his position in the compound. Was it possible that he had his own façade to uphold and had decided to let it down a little? Maybe you were getting a glimpse behind the curtain of who the real Negan was. And if so, was it possible that for the first time since the apocalypse, hell the first time ever if you were being honest, that you could start to let your guard down with someone?

You looked down at the sample of hawthorn crisp you had been chewing thoughtfully. Either that or he had spiked the berries with some intelligence-removing substance and you were now completely delusional.

Shaking yourself back to reality, you turned to Ben and stated, "This is great! Maybe just add a tiny bit more honey to the next batch to make it a little sweeter and it will be perfect."

Smiling in response, he nodded and walked off to relay your review to the two staff members who were pouring the next batch of crisp into casserole dishes before loading them into the oven. Dinner was to start in a little less than an hour and the kitchen was currently buzzing with noise as the staff busied themselves preparing both the main dish and the dessert that was sure to be a welcome surprise to compound members.

After getting over the initial shock of seeing a container filled with berries delivered from Negan, you had quickly become excited at the possibility of making an actual dessert. Much as you had wanted to use the berries immediately, you had decided to save them until the men returned from the supply run. You had told Ben that it would be a good way to celebrate the men returning from a successful trip and that it would help build morale in the compound, which was partially true. The other reason you had decided to wait until now to use the berries was so that Negan could be here to sample the dessert, since he was the reason you were able to make it in the first place.

Curiosity made you wonder who had actually picked the berries. A grin pulled at your lips and you laughed internally at the mental picture of Negan hunched over a berry bush, avoiding thorns and tossing the little red fruit into a container. No, it wasn't likely that he had done it himself. Probably he had ordered someone else to pick the berries and had threatened death via Lucille if they so much as breathed a word of it to anyone else.

After seeing the berries, Ben had been curious to know who the note was from. Thinking fast, you had said it was from Dwight as a thank you for the extra plates of food you had given him. You had made Ben promise not to tell anyone else about the berries, saying that both you and Dwight would be in deep shit from Negan if he found out. Regret at having to lie to Ben was a small price to pay if it meant he didn't know the truth. And once again you were hiding your true self from others, the self that had been interacting privately with Negan. This dual personality shit was getting exhausting.

Ben had helped you hide the container in the pantry until today, both of you deciding to tell the rest of the kitchen staff that the berries had come in last night as part of the supply run. You weren't sure if everyone believed it, but what could they possibly say?

As for the note, you had tried unsuccessfully to tear it up multiple times and hide it in the trash. Instead it was currently in your room, tucked underneath your mattress where no one would find it. There had been a few times over the last five days when you had pulled it out and re-read the words, your fingers tracing ink as you imagined Negan sitting at his desk, gloved hand holding a pen as he jotted words onto the paper.

Removing a big pot from the stove top, you poured the contents into a large sieve in the nearby sink. The boiling water caused a cloud of steam to rise and caress your face as you transferred the now-drained spaghetti noodles to another bowl. Tonight's dinner was a simple pasta dish, nothing fancy. However, you didn't think anyone would mind since dessert would be the focal point. The delicious smell of berry crisp was already filtering throughout the kitchen, giving it a homey and comforting feel. You had been afraid that you couldn't pull this off, especially since cooking with hawthorn berries wasn't a skill you had previously possessed. It had taken multiple staff members a good deal of time to remove the core and seeds of each individual berry in order to make them edible, but the result would be well worth the effort at the look on the diners' faces when they saw the dessert. Yes, everything was going according to plan.

Three hours later and the hawthorn crisp had been a raging success. The number of compliments pouring in was a new record high, and you made sure to let the entire kitchen staff know that they deserved the compliments just as much as you did. Everything had run flawlessly thanks to them, and so you refused to take all of the credit.

Currently overseeing the last batch of dessert, which Trixie was getting ready to take out to the cafeteria, you peaked through the door and scanned the tables of diners. Unsurprisingly, there was still no Negan. You hadn't really expected him to show up for dinner, but there was still a slight twinge of disappointment. After not seeing him for five days you had thought that perhaps he would stop by and at least make some sort of appearance, but strangely there hadn't even been a request from one of his wives to make him a dinner tray.

Perhaps he was too tired for dinner after the supply run and meeting at Alexandria. You couldn't even imagine how exhausting being responsible for a van full of lives would be. Not to mention the amount of effort needed to pilfer an abandoned town for goods before going to another town and dealing with a group of people who obviously weren't your biggest fans.

Debating internally while starting to pack up the leftover pasta, you finally came to a decision. If Mohammad wouldn't come to the mountain, the mountain would go to Mohammad.

Putting together a bowl of pasta and a plate of crisp, you arranged it on a serving tray and grabbed a clean glass and pitcher of water. Turning around, you saw Ben looking at the tray in your hands curiously.

"Think you can handle it from here? I'm beat, so I figured I'd go back to my room and relax."

You usually ate with the rest of the staff after all the diners had left, minus the times you had been called to Negan's room, so you hoped this wouldn't look as out of place as it felt. However, Ben gave a shy smile and nodded in agreement.

"I'll make sure everything gets cleaned up and put away. Go take a load off, boss. You deserve it."

You really didn't know what you had done to deserve Ben as your assistant. You sure as hell weren't repaying him with enough honesty, and the guilt burned in your stomach at the ease with which you had told him yet another lie in regards to Negan.

Leaving the kitchen with the tray, you walked down a series of hallways and up a staircase towards your room. The further you got from the kitchen, the less people there were to encounter. Stopping at a fork in the hallways, you looked around to make sure no one was watching before taking the turn that would lead to Negan's quarters. A few minutes later and you were walking down the hallway to his room, hoping fervently that you didn't run into anyone since there was no valid excuse for why you were here.

You almost dropped the tray in fear when a feminine giggle filtered through one of the closed doors as you passed by it. Picking up the pace towards his door, you were almost there when a realization hit so hard that it felt like walking into an actual wall.

What if Negan hadn't come to dinner or requested a tray because he already had a wife in his room with him?! Perhaps he was tangled up in that big bed with Maria, or one of the other women, at this very moment.

Stopping in front of Negan's door, you wondered if this was a huge mistake, but you were already here so the least you could do was give him the tray of food. Hell, maybe part of you was actually hoping he was with one of his wives. Seeing _that_ would definitely help smack your hands back down onto the metaphorical safety bar.

It wasn't until after knocking on the door that your subconscious screamed _what if one of his wives answers instead of him!_

Shit, how had you not thought of that possibility? What the hell would you say if that happened…

The door opened, and you let out a puff of relief at the sight of Negan, not a wife, on the other side.

Taking in his appearance, you were surprised to see that he looked tired and not at all his usual put-together self. His hair was devoid of the product that usually slicked it back off his face. Instead it was sticking up in places as if he had been subconsciously running his fingers through it. Though still wearing his usual grey pants and black boots, he had taken off the leather jacket and scarf, leaving him in a plain white t-shirt that clung to his body in a way that caused saliva to pool in your mouth.

His eyes widened slightly and a smirk curled one side of his mouth as he drawled, "Well ain't this a fucking surprise."

Standing there staring up at him, you suddenly found your vocal cords incapable of functioning properly. You hadn't thought this far ahead, hadn't thought what your opening line would be.

His eyes regarded you closely then dropped down to the tray of food before trailing back up again to meet your gaze.

"Well doll, you gonna stand there staring at me all evening or do you wanna come inside?"

The thought entered your head that it was still possible to leave. Just hand him the tray, turn around, and go back the way you came. _Chicken,_ your subconscious whispered.

It would be so easy to grip that safety bar again and leave, to abort the plan and go back to your room where things felt more secure. But he had left you that note and the berries; he had actually tried to be nice after you accused him of being incapable. If he could give a little, then maybe it was time that you gave back a little as well.

Moving forward, you walked past him and into the room. The click of the door closing behind you was a formal announcement that you had not only said "fuck it" to the safety bar, but had unbuckled your seatbelt, thrown your hands up in the air, and decided to enjoy the ride.


	12. A Dream Within A Dream

Looking around the office-type room, you saw that the door leading to Negan's bedroom was closed, so you turned to him and asked, "Where do you want the food?"

He motioned silently to the big desk on the other side of the room, so you walked over and set the tray down on an empty space beside a silver desk lamp. Glancing at the papers spread out on the dark wood, you saw what looked like ledgers lying open with lists and numbers scribbled on the pages. Guessing that they were some type of inventory from the supply run, you wondered if this was the reason why he had missed dinner and was looking so tired.

Beside the papers, a pair of thick-rimmed black glasses laid on the desk, as if they had recently been used. Negan wore glasses? The realization surprised you, but then you realized that it shouldn't since there were so many things that you didn't know about this man.

Negan moved around the desk and sat down in the chair with a sigh, shoving papers out of the way and pulling the tray across the wood towards him. Your gaze was drawn to his exposed arms, his bicep muscles flexing as he picked up the pitcher of water and poured some into the empty glass. Yet another thing you hadn't known about Negan: he had tattoos. As he was placing the pitcher back on the tray, you saw a glimpse of a gun tattoo on the inside of his right forearm. Scanning up his arm, you also saw what looked to be a large cross on his right bicep, but the top portion was covered by the white t-shirt he was wearing. Flickering your eyes over to his left arm, you saw a smaller cross on the inner forearm and a fourth tattoo on his left bicep. You weren't sure what that tattoo was since it was mostly cut off by the t-shirt, but it appeared to have some type of wings at the bottom. Was it a bird? Realizing that you were staring, you quickly looked away before he noticed. The thought popped into your brain that perhaps there were even more tattoos, ones currently covered by his clothes.

 _Why don't you find out?_ your subconscious whispered. Ignoring it, you saw that he had picked up the fork and was starting to eat the pasta. There was nowhere to sit at the desk and you felt self-conscious hovering in front of him, so you turned and wandered over to the large bookshelf against the wall. Scanning the dozens of book titles, you could hear Negan eating behind you, his fork clinking against the bowl with every bite.

You wanted to ask him about the berries, but it felt awkward to bring that up right now. What would you even say? Instead you decided to break the silence with a more neutral topic.

"How'd the supply run go?"

There was silence for a few seconds, probably while he finished chewing, and then the reply, "Was alright. Didn't fucking die, so that's a plus."

Turning your head to look at him, you asked, "What about Alexandria? They give you any problems?"

You weren't sure if he would answer you, since it was possible he would see the questions as interrogation rather than conversation. You expected him to say it was none of your business, but instead he sighed and stroked a hand over his beard while staring down at the ledgers. "Rick the Prick and his loyal band of dingleberries are gonna be a pain in my fucking ass, but it's nothing I can't handle." Looking up at you, he added, "Why? You worried about me, doll?"

Deciding it was best not to answer that, especially since you didn't really know the answer yourself, you instead turned back to the shelves of books and changed the subject.

"Have you read many of these?"

"Most, yea," he replied, sounding as if he were talking around a mouthful of food.

Yet another revelation about Negan: he had an intelligent side to him that one wouldn't guess based on his personality and demeanor. Sure, he was smart in the sense of knowing how to lead the compound and keep everyone safe, but being book smart was a different type of intelligence, one you hadn't expected from him. Turned out that the man sitting at the desk had some layers to him after all.

Trailing your fingers over the bindings of the books, you felt some jealousy that he had such a large collection when you were stuck with a small handful of mediocre novels you had bought with your points. Negan had a strict bartering system where people earned a certain amount of points for completing their tasks in the compound. These points could be used at the trading market to buy a variety of goods such as clothing, toiletries, and some leisure items such as books. You preferred to spend your points on necessities such as underwear and toothpaste, but once in a while you would splurge on a book or outdated magazine.

"I miss reading. I used to do it a lot, back before…" your words trailed off, but it was obvious what you meant.

"They have books at the market," he stated.

"Yea, sometimes they do. Not very many though, at least not the ones I hope for. Probably because it looks like you're taking all of the good ones," you joked.

"There one you're looking for in particular?"

You were surprised that he had asked, but you didn't turn around or look at him. This was the first calm and borderline normal conversation between the two of you, and you were afraid that making eye contact with him would break the spell.

You smiled even though he couldn't see it. "It's so cheesy, but what I wouldn't give to have a copy of the Harry Potter series."

He gave what sounded like a choked cough before scoffing, "Harry Potter?"

"They were my favorite books growing up. I told myself I was going to re-read them as an adult, but never did. I just always assumed that I'd have plenty of time and get back to them eventually."

He responded with a huffed laugh, "Sorry doll, my library doesn't include any fucking wizard books."

Finally turning around to face him, you accused, "You never read Harry Potter?"

"Isn't that a fucking kid's book?"

Your eyes widened at what was basically a confession that no, he hadn't. "Well, I mean yea, technically it is. But it's…it's so much more than that. It's about taking the bare bones that life throws at you and making it into something positive. Facing your greatest fears and overcoming impossible odds with the help of friends, courage, and magic."

He was staring at you unblinking, as if trying to comprehend what you had just said. You turned back to books while whispering, "Everyone should have a chance to read Harry Potter at least once in their lives, no matter how old they are."

A blush hit your cheeks in embarrassment as you realized how pathetic your synopsis had probably sounded. _Rambling about how much you love a magical world written for children. Real smooth._

Relieved when he didn't respond, you scanned the top shelf of the bookcase. You were excited to see that he had a copy of Edgar Allen Poe's short stories. You had always loved Poe and his eerie plotlines. When you were younger they had creeped you out at first, but then you had found yourself drawn back to them, reading the stories over and over. Reaching up and pulling the thick book off the shelf, you turned to Negan and held it up in front of you. "May I?"

Negan nodded silently and picked up his fork to take a bite of crisp. His eyebrows raised as he chewed thoughtfully while staring down at the plate of dessert. You guessed that his response meant he approved, since he wasn't spitting it out or making a rude comment. You knew that he wouldn't hesitate to do so if any of your food didn't meet his expectations.

Walking over to the black leather couch, you sat down and opened the book, finding, "The Raven". There was something almost nostalgic about reading this again after so long. When you were done, you flipped to the next story, which was, "The Tell-Tale Heart". It wasn't long before you were completely zoned out and unaware of your surroundings, which was a common occurrence for you when reading.

After finishing that story, it hit you that the room was completely silent except for the slight rustle of papers. Slowly sliding your eyes to the left, you peeked up over the top of the book and saw that Negan was slowly chewing on the last few bites of crisp while looking down at the ledgers on his desk. You found yourself staring silently, enjoying this chance to study him without him realizing that you were doing so. He had put the glasses on, and of course it would be too much to ask for them to make him to look dorky or silly. Instead they gave him a studious appearance that took his sexiness to a whole other level. The thin t-shirt clung to his shoulders and biceps, showcasing his lean muscles as he lifted the fork to his mouth with one hand and turned the page of a ledger with the other.

If someone had told you two weeks ago that you would be sitting in Negan's private quarters, the two of you providing each other with silent company, you'd have sent that person straight to the medic to be assessed for head trauma. Too bad this tired version of Negan didn't occur more often, since it seemed to soften his usual crude attitude and make him almost amiable to be around.

Turning your attention back to the book, you started reading another short story. You had to admit that not being at each other's throats for once was helping you to put your guard down and relax. Perhaps too much so, since your lids were becoming heavier as the words on the page turned blurry. You decided to let your eyes drift shut, thinking that you would rest for just a minute before continuing to read….

Eyes opening, you suddenly found yourself lying on red satin sheets and wondering how the hell you got there. A large figure appeared in front of you, and you looked up to see Negan standing there with a smirk on his face. Realization hit that you must be in his bed, but it felt more like you were on an island in the middle of the ocean. Anything past the mattress appeared foggy and out of focus.

Negan climbed up on the bed and whispered _relax doll_ before lifting your shirt over your head. He reached down to unbutton your jeans, and you knew you should stop him, but couldn't for the life of you remember why. Feeling a large, warm hand trail down your stomach, you whimpered in response as his fingers dove underneath denim and cotton to cup between your thighs. You gasped at the sensation of him pushing two fingers inside you. Reaching up to clutch at his shoulders, you found them bare, along with the rest of him. Looking down, you realized that the rest of your clothes had disappeared as well.

Negan moved his body between your open thighs, and you felt him pressing against your entrance, hard and ready. Your body felt as if it were on fire, and only Negan inside of you could quench the flames. He pushed forward and it felt so incredible that you moaned. _God yes…Negan, please_.

He chuckled in response and said _wake up doll_. Huh? You thought that was a weird thing to say considering he had his dick half inside you. Ignoring him, you lifted your hips to try and encourage him to thrust forward again. Instead he put a hand on your shoulder and shook you gently. What the fuck was he doing? Was this some weird kinky shit he was into? You tried to refocus on the feeling of him entering you, but looking down you saw that your clothes were back on, and so were his, and what the hell…

Eyes opening suddenly, you were disoriented to see that you were no longer in Negan's bed but instead slouched sideways with your cheek pressed against what felt like leather. Hunched about a foot in front of you was Negan, fully clothed with a grin on his lips and his hand on your shoulder. It took a minute before you realized what was going on but when you did, fire heated your cheeks. You had fallen asleep on his couch while reading and then proceeded to have a god damn sex dream about him while he was in the same room! Sitting up abruptly, you wiped at your mouth, horrified to feel a tiny bit of drool at the corner of your lips.

"I…I'm so sorry! How long have I been out?" You looked over at the window and saw that the sunlight had faded, the sky turning a pinkish-orange color to mark the impending sunset.

"Bout an hour or so. Not sure what the fuck you were dreaming about, but from the noises you were making, I'd say it was a fucking good one."

 _An hour?! How the hell was I asleep an hour? And he HEARD ME MOANING!_

You wished the floor would just open up and swallow you whole. That would be more manageable than the current situation.

"I dreamt that I turned into a walker," you blurted, avoiding direct eye contact.

His look plainly said "bullshit" but he didn't argue. Instead he straightened so that he was no longer bent over and reached up to pull the glasses off his face with one hand. Your eyes followed the motion and you felt heat pool between your thighs. Who knew that such a simple move could be so erotic? _Dear Jesus pull yourself together!_

Pushing up off the couch, you stammered, "I should go now."

You tried to hand him the book you were still holding, but he shook his head.

"Keep it."

Blinking in surprise, you replied, "Uh, okay. I'll give it back when I'm done."

You started to leave the room, but paused with your hand on the doorknob. Turning back around, you regarded Negan thoughtfully. Perhaps your brain was still muddled from being asleep, but the urge to ask him about the berries was suddenly overwhelming.

"Why'd you do it?"

His brows rose in response and you both stared at the other silently. You thought maybe he wasn't going to respond or was going to act as if he didn't know what you were talking about. You opened your mouth to clarify when he answered your question with one of his own.

"Would you rather I hadn't?"

"Uh, no…I…" Stumbling over your response, you looked down at your feet and said softly, "It was really nice of you to do that. Thank you."

"Yea well, don't say that shit too loud. Can't have people thinking I'm getting fucking soft or some shit."

A grin pulled at the corner of your lips as you nodded and looked up at him. "Don't worry, your reputation is safe. I doubt anyone here sees any part of you as soft." As soon as the words left your lips you heard the double entendre and your eyes widened.

A slow smirk spread across his bearded face, showcasing his pearly whites and panty-dropping dimples.

"That so, doll?"

For probably the hundredth time this evening you felt your face burning with embarrassment. "I didn't…what I meant was…okay I'm going now," you stammered before opening the door.

Negan chuckled as you stepped out into the hallway and started walking back towards your room. You only made it a few steps before his gruff voice said, "Hey, doll."

Looking back over your shoulder at him, you saw that he was still smirking and that he looked less tired now than he had when you first arrived.

"Yea?"

"Same time tomorrow."

It was more a command than a question, but you still raised an eyebrow and saucily replied, "I don't know. Guess it depends on how _nice_ I'm feeling."

Turning around without waiting for his response, you started back down the hallway with Poe clutched to your chest and a feeling of giddiness causing you to grin from ear to ear.


	13. The First Cut is the Deepest

Holy crap, we're at chapter 13?! When I first started this I NEVER expected it to be more than a short, smutty one-shot. Here's hoping that the next 13 chapters are just as great! :D

Also, if any of you awesome peeps have tumblr and are interested, my username is flames-bring-a-ton-of-ash

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You woke up the next morning to the sound of your stomach growling insistently. Since you had skipped out on your own dinner in order to give the tray of food to Negan, that meant you hadn't eaten anything since breakfast yesterday, and your body was now giving not so subtle reminders that it was being neglected.

You got dressed in a plain forest-green shirt that was a little snug and hugged your body in all the right places. It also had a scooped neckline which allowed for a hint of cleavage. _Trying to impress somebody?_ your subconscious teased. Your logical side argued that no, you were only wearing this shirt because most of your other, less form-fitting ones were dirty.

Walking down to the kitchen, you found Ben and a couple other staff members serving breakfast. You grabbed an empty bowl and filled it with oatmeal before hopping onto a bar stool and proceeding to shovel the food into your mouth. Despite your stomach's insistence, it was difficult to enjoy such a dull meal. Staring down at the soggy oats, you made a mental note to use some of your points to buy granola bars at the market.

At that moment, a small plastic container slid across the counter and stopped a few inches from the bowl of oatmeal. Looking up, you saw Ben put a finger to his lips to signal that the container was a secret before he walked back across the tiles to continue serving breakfast. Grabbing the container and pulling off the lid, you gave a soft "yes!" of excitement to see a leftover serving of hawthorn crisp. You didn't know how Ben had managed to hide any leftovers, since the dessert had been going like wildfire last night, but boy were you grateful he had. Pushing the bowl of oatmeal to the side, you dug into the crisp with delight. When Ben came over a few minutes later to clear up the dirty bowl and empty container, you gave him a huge smile and thumbs up, which he returned with a wink and smile of his own.

Leaving the kitchen, you went back to your room to fetch Poe and a pillow before heading outside. Picking a space behind the compound where there weren't any people around, you sat in a patch of sunlight with the pillow beneath you and the wall of the compound at your back. You spent the rest of the morning and most of the early afternoon completely engrossed by the short stories. It was only when the heat of the mid-day sun became too much, and you craved a glass of water more than another story, that you shook out the pillow and headed back inside.

After returning the pillow and book, you went back down to the kitchen to discuss today's dinner options with Ben. When you arrived, there were stacks of crates sitting in the middle of the floor. Grinning from ear to ear, Ben came over and exclaimed, "Tomatoes! And onions!"

"What?" you asked quizzically, thinking that perhaps Ben had finally spent too much time in the kitchen and was officially losing his mind.

"The crates! They're full of fresh tomatoes and onions! The gardeners brought them in and said that they were going to go bad if we don't find a way to use them soon."

Confusion quickly turned to excitement as you realized what this meant: fresh produce for dinner! Moving over to peer inside one of the crates, you saw that they were indeed packed full with large tomatoes and sweet onions. Looking at Ben and the rest of the kitchen staff, you proclaimed, "Well, anyone have any recipe ideas?"

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Thanks to some group brainstorming, today's dinner menu was going to include two options. The first was a basic rice and soy sauce option for the less adventurous palates in the compound. The second option was more creative: tuna-stuffed tomatoes. One of the servers had mentioned how there were dozens of tuna fish cans from the latest supply run, which had sparked the idea in Ben's head to combine the onion and tuna together before filling up the large tomatoes and baking them. Everyone had agreed that it was just risky yet brilliant enough to be worth trying. Plus it wasn't every day that there was fresh garden produce to cook with, let alone make the focal point of a meal. So unless the whole thing was an utter flop, there were bound to be positive reviews from compound members.

The prep work was in full swing, with you peeling and chopping the sweet onions, when the door to the kitchen opened and Sherry walked in. Trying to ignore the fact that your automatic reaction was to grit your teeth and scowl, you instead plastered a smile on your face in greeting.

Sherry was a pretty woman in her early 20s with long wavy brown hair and delicate features. She was also Negan's first wife. From what you had gathered since arriving here a couple months ago, Sherry and Dwight had been married since before the apocalypse. When arriving here, they had both struggled to earn enough points and make ends meet for themselves. Therefore, Negan had given Sherry a choice: stay with Dwight and continue to work for points or become his wife, which meant never speaking to Dwight again but living in the lap of luxury in the compound. Sherry had obviously chosen the latter, but had still tried to keep an affair going with Dwight on the side. This had resulted in another choice from Negan after he found out about the affair: Sherry could go back to working for points or let Dwight take the punishment. Once again choosing the latter, the result was the horrible burn which covered the entire left side of Dwight's face.

Sherry had always been pleasant to you in the few interactions the two of you had, but to say you _liked_ her would be an overstatement. Perhaps it was because you found it hard to fully respect a woman who would let her ex-husband take the fall for a rule they both had violated. Or maybe it was hard to fully respect a woman who was willing to sit around doing nothing except cater to Negan rather than work to earn her keep. _Or maybe it's because you know she fucks Negan whenever he wants and probably isn't stupid enough to actually develop feelings for him._

Yea…or that.

Walking over to where you were steadily chopping, Sherry gave a quick greeting and cut to the chase with why she was there.

"Negan wants a dinner tray made up once the food is ready. When should I come back and pick it up?"

Trying hard not to show any reaction to the request, you replied, "The first round of food should be ready in about 45 minutes."

"Okay great! Thanks," she replied before walking off. She went over to talk to one of the other staff members, which annoyed you more than it should. Shouldn't she be lounging around in lingerie right now rather than being in your kitchen? _Now you're just being an ass,_ you mentally scolded yourself.

Rather than taking out your emotions on Sherry, the real problem was that you were confused and a little pissed off about the tray request. Hadn't Negan told _you_ to come to his room after dinner? And hadn't that meant that _you_ were to bring him a tray? Maybe he didn't want to see you after all. Or maybe something came up…

Yea, like his dick and how he could stick it in Sherry.

Grabbing a new onion from the crate, you started chopping a little more furiously than needed, your mind consumed with thoughts of Negan and Sherry fucking on his huge bed, on his desk, against that same patch of wall…

What happened next was so quick and yet at the same time it felt as though it were in slow motion.

Being so absorbed on your internal thoughts meant that you weren't as focused on the task at hand as you should've been. It was as you were chopping off the ends of another onion and mentally cursing Sherry that the sharp knife slipped mid-slice and hit directly on top of your finger.

At first it seemed like nothing major; you felt a small flash of pain and then nothing. However, looking down, you saw a gash on your index finger that ran from right below your fingernail down almost to the back of your palm. Staring in shock at what looked suspiciously like exposed bone, you were then unable to further examine the severity of the cut because blood was pooling out of it and coating your entire hand.

You rushed over to the sink and turned on a stream of cool water, hissing in pain as it hit the open wound. So much for feeling nothing now. _Fuck that hurts._

Noticing that something was wrong, Ben walked over to ask if you were alright.

"Yea, I just cut my finger. Is there any gauze around here?"

Ben's mouth dropped open when he looked down at your finger, which was still pouring blood and causing the running water to turn pink before it hit the bottom of the sink. You felt a little light-headed at the amount of red liquid that was continuously flowing out of your finger, but were sure that it would stop if you could just get something to cover it.

"Shit, this cut is deep. You're going to need more than gauze for that. You need to go to the medic station," Ben replied, turning and yelling for someone to bring a clean rag. Trixie came running over with one, which Ben proceeded to wrap tightly around your finger.

You tried to protest, but Ben wasn't hearing it. Sherry came over and offered to walk you to the medic so that Ben could take over with the dinner prep. He nodded before you could say otherwise, and before you knew it, Sherry was leading you through the compound to the medic station. Sighing loudly and looking skyward, the thought popped into your head, _this is my karma for those asshole thoughts about Sherry earlier._

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About two hours later and you were sitting in bed with a row of stitches on your finger and some mild painkillers in your system. There was still a slight throbbing pain radiating from your finger, but your pride was hurt more than anything. The medic had said that you wouldn't be able to bend the finger for "a while," whatever the hell that meant. And you were to go back in 7 to 10 days to get the stitches removed. They had suggested you rest for the remainder of the day and for tomorrow as well.

Of course you couldn't do that, not with dinner to oversee. But when you had went back to the kitchen after leaving the medic, Ben had given an exasperated sigh and simply stated, "You have got to be kidding me." He then proceeded to escort you to your room, despite protests otherwise.

"Look, you almost chopped your dang finger off. No one is going to think any less of you for resting. I'll make sure dinner gets finished and I'll have Trixie bring you a tray when it's ready."

Pouting like a child, you had eventually resigned yourself to the fact that you would have to put faith in Ben and the rest of the staff that they could finish preparing, cooking, and serving dinner without you. It wasn't that you didn't trust them, but you hated having to sit here like an invalid when it was just a damn finger that was hurt.

However, the whole event must've taken more out of you than expected because you did end up dozing off for a short nap until a knock announced that Trixie was at your door with a dinner tray. After she left, you scrutinized the food closely and weren't surprised to see that both the bowl of rice and the tuna stuffed tomato were cooked to perfection.

Deciding to make the best of the situation, you had grabbed Poe from your nightstand and proceeded to read another short story while eating dinner in bed. It was the first time you had actually relaxed and ate by yourself in who knows how long, and it was actually kind of nice for a change.

You had just finished eating when there was another knock on the door. Thinking that it was Trixie coming back to take the empty tray, you said, "Come in."

A second solid knock was the response. Irritated, you put the book down and yelled, "It's unlocked, Trixie!"

At this, the knob turned and the door slowly opened.

Your eyes widened in shock when Negan stepped into the doorway.

"You're not Trixie," you stated dumbly.

Walking across the threshold and softly closing the door, he replied, "No, doll. I sure as fuck am not."


	14. Logic Over Instinct

Negan was in your bedroom. Negan. Was in. Your bedroom.

Speechless for the moment, you watched as he stood by the door, Lucille in hand, and scanned the room.

The space was small, barely bigger than a dorm room. You weren't complaining because at least the space was solely yours. Most compound members had to share a room, either with the rest of their family or with random roommates. You weren't sure how you had been lucky enough to arrive at a time when a single room was unoccupied, but thank God you had.

The walls were an ugly off-white color, and you didn't have any decorations to cover it save for the round mirror hanging on the wall across from the bed. There was a rickety wooden chair by the door that had a mixture of clean and semi-clean clothes strewn all over it, and the rest of your clothes were hastily folded and stacked in some wooden crates that served as your armoire. There was a small black trashcan at the foot of the bed and a short stack of books sitting in the corner. Beside the head of the bed was a small nightstand currently holding a blue desk lamp, the copy of Poe, and a box of band aids for your injured finger. The bed was twin-sized with an old wooden frame and worn gray sheets.

The room was tiny to begin with, but Negan's presence made the space seem even smaller. You had so many conflicting emotions about the fact that for the first time it was him invading your private space and not the other way around. Emotions that you couldn't identify right now for all the points in the compound.

Negan had stopped scanning the room and was now staring silently at you curled at the head of the bed with your back against the wall. Clearing your throat, you asked, "What brings you here?"

"Sherry said you almost cut your fucking finger off and were rushed to the medic. Figured I better see how long my lead cook is going to be out of commission in case we need a replacement."

Eyes narrowing, you replied, "I'm not going to be out of commission. It was just a little cut, nothing major."

"A little cut that has you fucking bed-ridden?" he taunted.

"Not willingly," you grumbled.

Looking around the room again, he seemed to be contemplating whether or not to sit down. His eyes drifted over to the wooden chair but it was occupied with too many clothes. The only other place for him to sit was on the mattress with you, and you were _not_ offering that. Whether or not it was impolite, there was no way that you were tempting fate by sitting on the same bed as him.

Suddenly the decision was taken out of your hands when he set Lucille down on the chair and proceeded to walk across the short space towards the bed.

You almost forgot how to breathe when he sat down on the edge of the mattress right beside your hip, the bed dipping underneath his weight. Your bodies were so close that you curled your legs upwards and scooted closer against the wall in a vain effort to put a couple more inches between the two of you. The random and utterly ridiculous thought entered your head, _Dear god he's sitting right on top of the spot where I hid the note._

You watched, mesmerized, as he pulled off the thick leather gloves and laid them across his thigh. "Lemme see it."

A spark of heat rushed through you at the command, and it took a couple seconds before you realized that he meant your finger, not another part of your body. _Get your head out of the goddamn gutter._

You held out your hand and showcased the finger currently covered with a band aid. It must've still been oozing a little bit of blood, because there was a slight red spot showing through.

"I should probably change it," you muttered, reaching over for the box on the nightstand.

Before you could protest, Negan plucked the box from your grasp with one hand before reaching out and wrapping the other one gently around your wrist and pulling your injured finger closer to him. The movement meant you had to lean forward off the wall a few inches, which negated your earlier attempt to create some distance.

"What are you…I can do it myself," you protested, trying unsuccessfully to twist out of his grip.

Tawny eyes pinned you to the bed, "Fucking hold still."

Sighing in defeat, you stopped struggling and instead watched as he carefully peeled the band aid off your finger. For someone with such big and rough hands, he was surprisingly gentle. Turning your hand from side to side, he scrutinized the line of stitches as if to make sure that they met his approval. The situation seemed so surreal it was almost comical. Negan, the man who everyone feared and bowed down to, was currently sitting in bed with you, his own head bowed to examine your finger. His eyes flashed a warning when he let go of your wrist so that he could open a new band aid. Keeping your hand held obediently in the air, he loosely wrapped the clean band aid around the stitches before throwing the wrapper in the trash can at the foot of the bed.

"Thank you," you said, finally able to pull the hand back.

Negan opened his mouth to say something in response, but was cut off by a noise.

That noise was someone knocking on your door.

Both of you turned your heads towards the door in response, and panic hit your gut at the thought that it was probably Trixie coming back for the tray.

"Hey boss, you awake? It's Ben."

 _Well, FUCK._

Another knock sounded at the same moment that you realized the door was still unlocked. This realization was what spurred you to leap off the bed and yell, "Give me just a second, Ben!"

Turning to Negan, you hissed, "Hide!"

His eyebrows rose as if to say, "Are you fucking kidding me?"

Panic at the thought of Ben seeing Negan in your room almost made you feel light-headed. Grabbing Negan's arm, you tugged at him, which was about as effective as trying to move a boulder.

Looking at him with obvious fear in your eyes, you whispered, "Negan, please!" Much as you hated to beg, it was apparent that he couldn't give two shits less if Ben saw him in here. Which was something you'd have to analyze more thoroughly at a time when you weren't about to vomit from anxiety.

Finally grabbing his gloves and standing up, Negan calmly replied, "Where the fuck am I supposed to hide, doll?"

Looking around the room, you realized that there was only one option. Pointing to the corner next to the door, you practically shoved him across the room and against the wall. Instead of being angry, Negan looked as if he were about to burst out laughing, his eyes twinkling with glee at your distress. Fucking bastard.

Glancing around the room, you spotted Lucille still sitting on the chair. You delicately picked her up by the non-lethal end and handed her to Negan wordlessly before turning back to the door.

You took a deep breath and plastered a smile on your face before turning the knob and pulling the door open just enough to fit your body into the crack.

Ben was standing on the other side with a concerned expression on his face. "Are you alright? It took you a while to answer the door."

Laughing nervously in response, you stated, "Sorry about that. I just had to…put on some pants."

"Oh. How's the finger?"

Holding up the digit in question, you replied, "Doing just dandy. How was dinner?"

Ben grinned in response. "Dinner was awesome! Everyone who tried the tomatoes loved them!" Leaning in closer and lowering his voice, he added, "Sherry told me that even Mr. I-Hate-Everything-Negan approved."

You swore you heard a low growl come from behind the door. Unsure how long Negan would be able to keep his cool and stay put, you grinned at Ben and stated, "That's great! Look, not to rush you, but I'm really tired from everything and was just about to call it a night."

"Oh, sure! Just let me grab the tray and I'll be out of your hair."

Shit. The tray was across the room and sitting on the floor underneath the nightstand.

"Just give me a second and I'll get it," you stated, hoping your voice didn't sound as shaky as it felt. Practically sprinting across the room, you grabbed the tray off the floor and turned around. Your heart leapt into your throat at the sight before you. Ben had pushed the door open a few more inches and taken a step into the room. He stood practically shoulder to shoulder with Negan, only the thin wooden door separating them. Both men were watching you, Ben with a carefree smile on his face and Negan with a scowl.

Rushing back across the room, you handed the tray to Ben and gave him a quick thank you before basically closing the door in his face. Waiting a few seconds to make sure he was out of ear shot, you turned to a still scowling Negan and dryly stated, "Whelp, that was fun."

Negan looked like he was far from having fun, probably due to a mixture of Ben's comment and you unceremoniously shoving him behind the door. Emotionally exhausted from the chaos that had only lasted about a minute but felt like it had been an hour, you leaned back against the door and stared at Negan silently.

His eyes scanned over you and froze when they got to chest level. Brows narrowing, you glanced down to see if you had gotten food on yourself earlier and not realized it. Instead you saw that the shirt, already scoop-necked, was pulled down a little further than usual and showcasing some cleavage that you had to admit was pretty damn nice. From the look on Negan's face, he agreed. His gaze finally lifted from your chest and locked onto your own. You felt a flush hit your cheeks at the look in his eyes. Walking away a few feet so that he could set Lucille and the gloves down on the wooden chair, he wordlessly turned and started advancing on you.

You knew what would happen when he reached you. It was as if it were happening in slow motion. Would he actually break his rule twice and kiss you again? Did you want him to? _Hell yes you want him to!_ your subconscious shouted in excitement.

Unfortunately, your brain wasn't ready to give complete control over to your subconscious, as shown by the mental image of Sherry that it threw in your face.

Negan was less than a foot away when you put out a hand to stop him. His chest was solid under your palm, even through the leather jacket. It made you wonder what muscles were hiding underneath; muscles that you had only gotten a brief glimpse of last night through his t-shirt.

Your brain and subconscious each sat on a shoulder, as if playing the metaphorical demon and angel roles. Your brain kept flashing you mental pictures of Sherry and Maria and his other wives. Meanwhile your subconscious was screaming, _Who gives a fuck! He's with you_ _right now, not them! Carpe diem motherfucker!_

Looking up at Negan, who was staring at you wordlessly as if waiting for your decision, you cursed inwardly. There were still lingering feelings of anxiety from the close call with Ben, and that tipped the scales in favor of self-preservation and logic. You swore you heard your subconscious screaming in agony when it realized it had been defeated.

"We can't do this," you stated, surprised and a little proud that you sounded firm and sure of yourself. "I'm not having sex with you."

"Why the fuck not, doll? I know you want to. It's written all over your fucking face, not to mention your sweet little tits are practically heaving with excitement right now and I haven't even fucking touched you."

Well he had you there. Your body sure wasn't hiding its reaction to his proximity nor its excitement at the thought of what he could do with that proximity.

"Plus if we were fucking you wouldn't have to worry about sneaking trays to my room or butchering yourself with any fucking knives."

His last comment felt like a metaphorical slap in the face. Your brain started preening arrogantly, as if to gloat that it had been right all along. "Wait a minute. You think that if we had sex, that would automatically make me one of your wives?"

Negan declined to respond, but his silence was answer enough.

Shaking your head and side stepping away from him, you put a few feet of distance in between your bodies to better help get your thoughts together. "That's not happening. Sex in general is not happening. All it would do is complicate things."

Negan's face was stone cold and impossible to read as he analyzed your own expression. "How so, doll?"

"Because I'm not about to be part of your wife harem, and frankly the thought of fucking someone who is also fucking a bunch of other women isn't really my cup of tea. I can see how it wouldn't make much difference on your end, but I'd like to keep my dignity intact, thanks. Kinda hard to do when you're just a notch on someone's bedpost."

Negan gave a cold bark of laughter in response. "So what are you saying, doll? You think you're fucking better than all of them just because you demand exclusive dick rights? Or maybe you're expecting me to fucking get rid of all of them just for the privilege of sticking my dick in you? You really that good of a lay, doll? You think you could make up for five women who are willing to suck and fuck whenever I want them to?"

His words were sharp and precise like a knife to the gut, and this type of stab wound hurt way more than the one on your finger. Wanting to hurt him just as badly, you hissed, "No, I don't expect you to do _anything_ for me. I'm sure leaving me those berries more than fulfilled your selfless quota for the year, so I'm not about to expect anything else from you."

You saw that your words had hit the mark as his mouth tightened in anger. God damnit. This wasn't at all how you had wanted this conversation to go. Trying to backtrack, you softened your voice and tried for logic instead of insults.

"Look, I know that your wives are an import symbol of status and power for you, which means that you can't get rid of them. Not to mention the fact that you're living a lot of men's wet dream by having multiple women at your disposal. But that doesn't mean that I'm going to turn a blind eye to it and pretend like they don't exist."

"So you don't want me to have wives but you also don't want me to fucking _not_ have wives? Doll, you're not making any fucking sense!" He took a few steps away from you before turning back around. He reminded you of an agitated tiger pacing in its cage.

Wracking your brain for an explanation that would make sense to him, you suddenly had an idea.

"What if I said that I agree to have sex with you, but only under one condition?"

He stopped his pacing and lifted one eyebrow arrogantly. "Only one condition? Name it."

"I also get to have sex with Ben on the side."

His usually tawny gaze turned dark and stormy as he advanced a step towards you. "The fucking fuck you will!"

Internally grinning at the success of your idea, you stated, "The way you're feeling right now? That reaction you just had? Imagine if there were five Bens in this compound I wanted to sleep with instead of one. THAT'S what it feels like from my perspective."

Negan still looked pissed, but he also appeared to be contemplating what you just said. After what felt like an eternity of silence, he finally sighed and lifted a hand to run it over his salt and pepper beard. You were beginning to recognize that the gesture signified frustration. The fact that you were becoming proficient in identifying Negan's mood just by his non-verbal gestures was something that both terrified and thrilled you.

"So where the fuck does that leave us, doll? I'm not going to pretend that I don't want to climb between those pretty thighs and fuck you senseless, because Jesus fuck do I ever. But since you seem so opposed to the idea, I'm not bringing it up again. Not unless you're fucking begging me for it."

Trying to ignore the fire that had erupted between your thighs and soaked your panties at his words, you nodded your head in what you hoped was a convincing sign of agreement. "Deal."

Going over to the chair, Negan pulled on his gloves before picking up Lucille. He gestured in the direction of your finger. "The medic said you're to rest for at least another day, so I don't want to hear that you set even one foot inside the kitchen tomorrow."

Reeling from the abrupt change in topic, and still battling a severe case of dampened panties, you protested, "But what the hell am I supposed to do all day? I can't just sit in here twiddling my thumbs."

Gesturing towards your nightstand, he asked, "You done with the book?"

"Huh? Oh, yea I read most of it."

"Then stop by tomorrow and pick out another one. That better than twiddling your fucking thumbs?"

Slightly confused, you asked, "You still want to see me? Even after I said I'm not going to have sex with you?"

A slow smirk pulled up the corners of his mouth as he gave his dazzling signature grin. It wasn't until this moment that you realized it was the first time he had genuinely smiled since entering the room, and that you had missed seeing him do so.

"You really think I only interact with people who I can fuck? I'm offended, doll."

With that he opened the door and stepped out into the hall. Running after him, you stuck your head into the corridor, looking both to the left and right. Finally there was a little bit of luck on your side, as the hallway was empty.

Negan was already strutting away, Lucille propped up over one shoulder as he whistled a soft tune. When he got to the end of the hallway, he turned and glanced back at you. "Tomorrow at noon. That's not a suggestion; it's a fucking order."

With that he walked around the corner and out of sight. You stood in the doorway and listened until the whistling faded away. The only sounds left were the buzzing of the ceiling lights and your heart pounding in your chest.


	15. A Sweet Release

It was the middle of the night and you had gotten precisely zero hours of sleep. You had taken off your jeans and bra, leaving the green t-shirt and a pair of basic white panties. Turning over onto your side and trying unsuccessfully to find a comfortable position, you sighed loudly in the quiet room for probably the hundredth time in the last few hours. Usually it wasn't difficult for you to fall asleep, but tonight there were too many thoughts racing through your mind. Thoughts that all revolved around Negan.

You kept replaying the interaction with him earlier, how he had actually came to your room, despite the possibility of being seen. How he hadn't seemed to give a fuck when Ben was at the door. How he had changed your band aid for you. How he had looked at your cleavage with fire in his eyes and said that he wanted to fuck you.

You pressed your thighs together tightly in response. It had been so difficult to stand your ground with your hand on his chest and the word "no" coming out of your mouth. Every fiber in your body had been screaming at you to instead pull him closer and bring that beautiful yet vulgar mouth down onto your own, to drag him over to the small bed and let him do whatever he wanted.

And it was one thing for him to give non-verbal hints that he wanted to have sex with you, but for him to say it so explicitly…that had really thrown you for a loop. So much so that it was all you were able to think about since he had left.

Part of you was kicking yourself for not taking advantage of the situation, but the other part knew that you had made the right decision, especially after he had all but said that sleeping with him meant he saw you as his new wife. If you had slept with him first and found that out the hard way then you would've regretted your actions, as well as felt resentment towards Negan.

Much as it was torturing you now to think about how you had turned him down, being open and honest had been the right move. You hadn't been lying about how you felt in regards to him having five wives. You also hadn't been lying when you told him you didn't expect him to give them up, which put you in a shitty lose-lose position.

You prided yourself on having a high level of self-confidence and knew that becoming one of his multiple wives would quickly hurt that self-confidence. Attractive and charming as he was, you still deserved better than to be lumped in with five other women. You deserved to stand out and be seen as beautiful and intelligent and worthy of an exclusive relationship…something which Negan couldn't give you.

There was also the dip in status that would come with being one of Negan's wives. You had worked your ass off in the kitchen to gain respect from compound members and be seen as a capable leader. Unfortunately, it wasn't any easier post-apocalypse for a woman to be taken seriously as a man's equal, and one of the quickest ways for a woman to lose respect from others was to be known as the one screwing the boss.

Ticking off all these points in your head about why turning Negan down made logical sense still didn't mean that you were happy about it. It also didn't mean that you desired him any less.

You thought back to his words earlier, _I'm not going to pretend that I don't want to climb between those pretty thighs and fuck you senseless, because Jesus fuck do I ever._

Your breath quickened a pace just remembering how his voice had sounded saying the words, all deep and gravelly. How his eyes had pinned you to the spot and caused a physical reaction that had almost left you speechless.

The sex dreams had given you brief taste of what it could feel like to fuck him, but you knew that they were probably nothing compared to reality. Negan might be a bit of a tyrant and more than a bit of an asshole, but you'd bet all of your points that he was fantastic in the sack. That confidence and swagger didn't come from nowhere, not to mention the stamina needed to fuck five women on a regular basis.

Rolling onto your back and staring at the ceiling, you tried to imagine what he would look like naked. You wondered if he had salt and pepper chest hair to match his beard. Your thighs tingled at the thought. He was lean but you'd bet that leanness was all muscle. Bet that he was sexy as hell without all those layers of clothes. Bet that he had a beautiful dick that was long and wide and hard.

Your breath hitched as you felt a hungry wave of heat go through your stomach and settle between your thighs, your clit pulsing in response to the mental visual of a naked Negan. You were totally going to hell for this, if there even was a hell outside this world in which the dead roamed with the living.

Reaching for your panties, you pushed them down your legs and kicked them off the side of the bed. You hadn't made yourself come in…you didn't even know how long. But your body refused to be denied any longer, and if you wouldn't allow Negan to provide release, then damnit you were going to give it to yourself.

Your uninjured hand slid slowly down over your stomach, thighs parting slightly so your palm could cover your mound. A finger gently glided up and down soft lips before pressing upward and finding the little nub of flesh that housed more potential pleasure than any other part of your body. Rubbing in a tight circle, you moaned softly at the sensation, eyes closing involuntarily.

Imagining that it was Negan's fingers and not your own caused pleasure to dart up your spine like electricity. But it still wasn't enough.

Pushing a fingertip between your folds, you were slightly shocked at the amount of wetness already present. You pushed the finger inside the wetness, needing something _, anything,_ to fill you to bursting. One finger wasn't enough, so a second one was added. Moaning louder now, you pushed the fingers as deep as they could go, your other hand coming up to squeeze the swell of your tit through the t-shirt. Your hips jerked upwards in response as the fingers started plunging in and out, causing a rhythmic smacking sound with each thrust. It was so dirty and so wrong but a mental image hit the back of your closed lids of Negan naked with his cock inside you. His eyes watching your face intently to catalogue your responses and his voice in your ear encouraging you to moan louder, to scream, to come on his cock.

Your fingers picked up the pace, fucking yourself fast and hard while still wordlessly begging for it to be even faster and harder. The kind of fast and hard that only Negan's cock could give you. The hand at your breast reached down and started rubbing your clit while your fingers continued their rhythmic thrusting. It was a little awkward at first since you had to hold your stitched finger up and out of the way, but you quickly found a circular rhythm that worked. You whined as if in pain, the muscles in your legs taut with tension, fire building in your cunt until it was overwhelming.

It was the mental image of Negan above you that brought you to the peak. The thought of his large frame pinning you down, fucking you relentlessly into the mattress, claiming you as fucking _his_. The orgasm slammed into you with the force of a freight train, head thrashing back and forth on the pillow as you bit your lip to stifle any sounds. A soft yell followed by a low moan still escaped as your walls spasmed around your pounding fingers.

It took a couple minutes for you to come down off the high, thighs still twitching and heart beating as if you had just run a marathon. You opened your eyes and stared up at the ceiling, dazed and spent. You expected to feel shame afterwards, but it never arrived. Instead you felt relaxed and, while not completely satisfied, more so than you had been earlier. You wiped your slick hand off onto the sweaty t-shirt before drawing it over your head and throwing it to the floor. You didn't usually sleep naked, but right now you couldn't summon up the energy to care. You pulled the top sheet up to cover your naked body and instinctually brought the section where Negan had sat earlier up to your nose. It smelled musky and…the only word to describe it was masculine. A smile pulled at your lips as you clutched the sheet to your chest, eyes drifting shut as sleep finally claimed you.

Hours later you woke up feeling refreshed and recharged. Blinking sleepy eyes, you looked around the room, but with no window it was impossible to tell how late it was. However, you got that instinctual gut feeling that it was a little later than you usually slept in. Rubbing your eyes and sitting up in the bed, you stretched stiff-muscled arms over your head and gave a loud yawn. Perhaps you should give yourself more regular orgasms, you thought with a grin. Your sleep had been deep and dreamless for the first time in weeks.

Swinging your legs over the edge of the bed, you stood up and walked over to the wooden crates to pick out an outfit. You eyed the pair of jeans, but decided against it. You weren't working in the kitchen today, so the threat of something hot spilling onto your skin wasn't a worry. Therefore, you pulled out a pair of navy gym shorts that you typically only wore when in your room. They were more comfortable than the jeans and it would be nice to let your legs breathe for a change.

Grabbing a faded light blue bra and a clean pair of white panties, you put them on before drawing the shorts up your legs. Making a mental note to do laundry soon, you pulled a clean t-shirt over your head, this one a soft pink with a simple outline of a grey dove on the front. A pair of white and grey socks and the worn sneakers completed the outfit.

You started to pull your hair up into its regular bun, but hesitated. Once again you didn't have to worry about dressing for work, and the main reason for the bun, besides it being practical, was that it kept your hair out of the way of any food while cooking. It had also been a smart style back when you and your small group were out in the woods before arriving here. Getting your hair caught on a walker had been a much greater fear than the current worry of getting it caught on food. However, today you didn't have either of those worries, so you decided to just run your fingers through it and let it hang free in all its glory.

Looking at the reflection in the small wall mirror, you gave yourself a smile. Just the minor changes of wearing shorts and having your hair down made your whole demeanor feel more relaxed and at ease. You hadn't realized how uptight working every single day had made your routine until now.

Deciding to check and see how long you had until your meeting with Negan at noon, you walked to the door and poked your head out to look at the large utilitarian clock hanging in the hallway. Your mouth dropped open in shock.

12:35pm?!

No no no, that couldn't be right. You _never_ slept past 9am. Granted you usually weren't up half the night thinking about Negan or exhausting yourself with an orgasm, but still. Squinting at the clock, you hoped that perhaps it had died and just needed new batteries. But nope, the second hand was still steadily ticking away.

 _Shit, fuck, shit. He's going to kill me._

You started speed walking down the hall, trying to think how you were going to explain this to Negan. You got the whole way to the end before you realized that you had forgotten his book. Cursing out loud, you turned and sprinted back to your room, grabbing Poe off the nightstand and rushing back down the hallway.

A couple minutes later and you were borderline jogging to Negan's room, still out of ideas for a viable excuse. You could just tell him the truth, that you had overslept. _Or you could be super honest and say that you had overslept because you were too busy getting yourself off while thinking about him. He definitely wouldn't be angry at you then._

Finally arriving at Negan's hallway, you slowed down and tried to compose yourself. Running a hand over your hair, you made sure that it wasn't sticking up or tangled before reaching down to tug your shorts back into place from where they had ridden up in the back. Stopping in front of his door, you took a deep breath and knocked.

As the knob turned and it started to open, you stammered, "I know I'm late, but…" You stopped talking abruptly, staring in horror as the door opened the rest of the way.

It was Maria who stood in the doorway, shock written all over her face as she stared back at you.


	16. A Deal with the Devil

You and Maria both stared at each other in frozen shock. Maria's eyes scanned downward, taking in your dressed down outfit and the book clutched in your hand.

You heard Negan's gruff voice from behind Maria say, "Well, who the fuck is it?"

Maria's mouth gaped open and shut a couple times as if she were trying to decide if she should announce you or not. Your brain was yelling at you to turn around and run back the other way, but your feet were frozen in place as you tried to come up with a good excuse for why you were there.

"God damnit woman," Negan muttered as he walked up behind Maria. When he saw you in the doorway, he stopped and stared at you silently before flickering his eyes to the back of Maria's head, clearly processing the situation. A grin spread over his face at the look of panic on yours. The bastard was enjoying this.

"I…I…brought your book," you stammered, holding it out to him. You planned on bolting as soon as he took it out of your hand. In fact, you didn't understand why you weren't bolting now, book be damned.

Maria was still staring wide-eyed as if you had grown a second head or announced that you were from another planet.

"I fucking see that, doll," he chuckled, making no attempt to take the book. His voice got more serious and lost its humor as he commanded, "Maria, you can go now."

Jumping like a startled deer, Maria whispered a hurried, "Yes, sir." Her eyes dropped to the floor as she moved past you and started down the hall.

You wanted to go after her, to explain things…but you didn't even know _how_ you could possibly explain this. No way would she believe that this was nothing. People didn't just show up at Negan's door without being escorted or announced, not unless they were his wives or one of his main followers, such as Dwight. You didn't fall into either of those categories. _At least not yet,_ your subconscious whispered.

Negan didn't seem to currently share your worries, as he was too busy doing a slower version of Maria's earlier perusal. His gaze lowered to linger on your bare legs before trailing up over your shoulders and the hair that was hanging free. His expression became more serious as his eyes traveled over the locks, and you swore his jaw clenched before he brought his gaze back to your face.

Clearing his throat and opening the door further, Negan stated, "Well, doll. You gonna come in or what?"

You took a step forward, looking back over your shoulder as you did so. Maria was halfway down the hall, but she was also looking back over her own shoulder, confusion and shock still clearly written all over her face. Your gazes collided and held for a few seconds before you looked away and walked past Negan into his room.

After closing the door, Negan finally took the book out of your now limp hand before walking over to put it back on the top shelf of the bookcase. You stood there awkwardly; your hands felt numb and your head felt fuzzy as you tried to comprehend how you were going to explain the situation to Maria. Negan noticed something was wrong because he looked at you quizzically and stated, "The fuck's wrong with you? You're pale as a mother fucking ghost."

You couldn't believe that he really didn't get it, that he didn't understand what had just happened.

"She…she _saw_ me," you whispered.

"Well seeing as how you're not invisible, yea, I'd say she fucking saw you," he joked.

"This isn't funny!" you stated. "What if she goes and tells the other…other," your hand gestured in front of you, your tongue unwilling to finish the sentence.

"Other what? Doll, I don't do charades."

The feeling that you might pass out was rapidly receding and anger was taking its place.

"What the hell are we supposed to do if word gets out that I came here, your private quarters, on my own?! And without an escort! God only knows what conclusions they'll draw from it!" you exclaimed. While you hoped that Maria would stay quiet out of respect for your friendship and past history, she also seemed to have developed close relationships with Negan's other wives, so you weren't totally convinced.

Shrugging nonchalantly, Negan replied, "I don't fucking give a flying rat's ass what they'll assume, because Maria won't open her fucking mouth. She knows better. My personal business stays fucking personal. All my wives know that."

You felt slightly relieved at his response. Even if your friendship with Maria wasn't strong enough to keep her quiet, it was likely that her fear of Negan would be enough. At least for now. But you were still going to have to have a conversation with her at some point in the near future. Fuck.

You were just starting to come down from the mini panic attack seeing Maria had caused when another thought hit you. _What the hell was SHE doing here at the same time that he told you to show up?_

How long had Maria been here? If you had shown up on time, would you have still found her here? Perhaps at noon they had been tangled up in his bed, and you would've arrived right in the middle of it. Your eyes flickered to the closed door leading to Negan's bedroom before moving back to him. You scrutinized his outfit, which didn't seem out of place. Even his hair was perfectly slicked back, which you wouldn't expect if he had just been fucking someone. Not that you should care, especially after your conversation with him last night.

But you did care. That emotion was going to be a huge problem if you didn't squash it like a bug, and fast. You needed to refocus on why you had come here in the first place rather than worrying about Negan's sex life. You had already made it clear that you weren't going to be a part of it, so it wasn't any of your concern.

Sighing, you looked at Negan and stated, "Whelp, can I still borrow another book?"

The corner of Negan's lips curled slightly upward in a smirk and he waved his arm out in front of him as if presenting the books to you. "Sure, doll. Take your pick."

Walking over to the bookcase, you could feel Negan's eyes on your back as you scanned the shelves. Typically you'd be much more excited at the prospect of a new book, but your mind was still preoccupied with thoughts of why Maria had been here. At least the one good thing about her visit was that Negan seemed to have forgotten that you were over half an hour late.

"How's the finger?" he casually asked.

"Feels great," you threw back over your shoulder. Truth be told, it still throbbed here and there, but you weren't about to tell Negan that. No way were you getting banned from the kitchen for more than a day.

Your eyes dropped down to one of the lower shelves as you scanned the titles of books. You were about to crouch down to get a better look when something else caught your eye. There was a checkered rectangle of wood on the floor that was leaning against the side of the bookcase. You furrowed your brows in confusion. No way could that possibly be what you thought it was.

Turning to look at Negan, you questioned excitedly, "Is that a chess board? Do you actually use it?"

One of Negan's brows quirked upward at your question as he replied, "It is, and I do."

You were pleasantly surprised. While you had been a pretty damn good chess player pre-apocalypse, it wasn't often that you had found someone else who knew how to play. Instead most of your games had been against a computerized opponent on your laptop.

"Doll, don't tell me you know how to fucking play?" Negan asked. He seemed almost as surprised at the idea of you knowing the game as you had been at learning that he played as well.

Smiling in response, you taunted, "Why don't we set up the board and you'll find out."

"If I'm not mistaken, that sounded like a fucking challenge. Careful, doll. You might be biting off more than you can chew," he jeered with a wink.

You felt heat pool in your stomach in response. The visual of him naked flashed across your brain, reminding you of your thoughts (and actions) last night in bed. Thankfully, Negan turned around before he could notice the blush that stole across your cheeks. _Now is NOT the time to relive your masturbation fantasies,_ you scolded yourself.

Realizing that Negan was opening the door to his bedroom, you asked, "What are you doing?"

"Thought you wanted to fucking play? Need a table to do so," he stated, as if that were obvious.

Looking around, you realized that he was right. His desk was covered in papers and books, and there was no other surface in the room that would fit the board, which meant you had no choice but to follow him into the bedroom. You obviously hadn't thought this through properly, since you weren't exactly thrilled about having to be in yet another room with Negan and a bed.

Grabbing the board off the floor, you followed him through the doorway and into the lavish room that you had been in…was it really only a week ago? So much had happened since the last time you'd been in this room with him. A small sense of déjà vu occurred as you followed him across the linoleum and over to the black table and white chairs where you had sat last time. You set the board down on the table before turning to scan the room.

Your eyes were instantly drawn to the large bed, on which the red sheets were immaculately folded without a crease in sight. If he and Maria were having sex earlier, it wasn't on the bed. _There are plenty of other surfaces in here to get down and dirty on,_ your subconscious exclaimed, gleeful at the possibilities.

Negan unfolded the chess set so that the pieces dumped out into a pile before he set the board in the middle of the table. He took off his gloves, laying them at the edge of the dark wood. He started picking up the pawns and setting them on the appropriate squares while you stood and watched, mesmerized at how graceful his large hands looked arranging the small painted pieces. When he was done he took a seat in the chair to your right, which left you with the one closest to the bed. And of course he had picked the black chess set, leaving you with the white.

Sitting down in the plush chair, you eyed the board, excitement brewing at the chance to play a game after so long, to do something _fun_ that you had thought lost after the world went to shit.

You knew that it was your move, as the rules clearly stated that the white side went first. With a gleeful smile, you looked at Negan and teased, "You ready to get your ass kicked?"

A grin spread across Negan's face and he cocked his head slightly to the side as he replied, "I don't know doll. Depends on how interesting you wanna make this."

Confusion knitted your brows and you looked at him suspiciously.

"What does that mean?"

"Meaning are we playing for the hell of it, or do we wanna kick it up a fucking notch and play for something worthwhile?"

Realizing that he was offering a bet, you felt your suspicion grow. Squinting your eyes at him, you asked, "And what exactly is it that you want to play for?"

"Good question, doll." Leaning back in the chair and crossing his arms over his chest, he looked thoughtful. "What is it that I want?" he asked quietly to himself. You felt tense, waiting to hear his response. He had said that he wasn't going to bring it up again, but you still got butterflies at the thought of him demanding a sexual favor as a reward.

"How about this," he calmly stated. "If I win, then for the next month you have to bring me dinner whichever days I want."

You mouth dropped open in reaction before you squeaked, "A month?! But that would be obvious to everyone in the compound! I can't sneak trays in here for a whole month!"

"Who says you'd be fucking sneaking them?" Negan's dimples came out in full force as he taunted, "What's the matter, doll? I wouldn't think this was a problem, seeing as how you were planning on kicking my ass anyways. Unless you're all talk and no fucking action."

God damn him. Not only was he toying with you, but he was all but daring you to take the bait, and unfortunately you weren't one to turn down a challenge.

"And what do I get if I win?" you asked.

"Well, what is it that you desire, doll?" he drawled, causing a blush to creep up your cheeks. Only he could make such a simple sentence sound so dirty. He chuckled at your reaction. "Dang, I can practically see the fucking dirty thoughts racing around in your head. And here I thought that we were keeping this fucking PG rated."

Refusing to be thrown off your game by his comment, you sat silently for a minute, thinking what would be a worthy bet against a month of bringing him dinner trays. Suddenly it became clear and you knew exactly what you wanted. Your lips curled up in devious grin as you looked Negan dead in the eye and stated, "If I win, you have to take me on three trips outside the compound, for at least an hour each time. And I get to pick where in the woods I want to go."

Negan's face gave no reaction, but you had the feeling that he was finally the one having an "oh shit" moment. When he continued to stare at you without saying a word, you goaded, "Unless, of course. you're too scared that I will indeed kick your ass from here to Timbuktu and back. So do we have a deal or no?"

An arched brow was his only response as he continued to stare at you. Right when you thought maybe you had crossed a line and should take a few metaphorical steps back, Negan uncrossed his arms and leaned forward in the chair. His gaze was unwaveringly locked onto yours as he declared, "I hope your skills are half as good as your sass, because we got ourselves a fucking deal."


	17. Capturing the King

You had to admit that you were slightly surprised Negan was agreeing to this deal. Part of you had taunted him with taking you outside in hopes that he would back down on the bet, or at least lower the stakes. Apparently he was as good at turning down a challenge as you were.

Negan lifted a hand and held it out in front of him across the table. At your look of confusion, he stated, "I'm sure your word is as good as mine, but a deal isn't a deal unless you've shook on it."

Lifting your own hand, you reached across the table and clasped his hand firmly. You tried not to notice how warm and rough his hand was against yours. For someone who wore gloves most of the time, he still had some callouses on his fingers that caused a small thrill to go through you. His hand was so large that it enveloped yours almost completely, reminding you on a purely primal level how much stronger and more powerful than you he was. The thought caused a small fission of fear, which only served to further increase your arousal. _Dear Jesus, am I developing a fear kink now as well?!_

Jerking your hand back a little more abruptly than necessary, you put it in your lap and resisted the urge to wipe it on your thigh in a vain attempt to remove the residual warmth from his touch. Instead you refocused on the chess board, picking up one of the ivory pawns and looking at the delicately carved details before setting it back down and pushing it forward one square to kick off the game.

Negan responded by picking up one of his knights, jumping it over his line of pawns and putting it in the front, as if leading the charge.

Deciding to play it safe for now, you moved another pawn one space forward. Negan also moved a pawn, and it went this way for a few more moves, the little onyx and ivory chessmen slowly coming out of their starting positions.

"Where did you find the board?" you asked while moving your bishop a few diagonal spaces forward.

"One of my men found it on a supply run. Fucker was going to throw it in the useless pile until I told him I'd use it to fucking bash his head in if he didn't pack it into the van."

Startled, you looked at Negan's face to see if he was joking, but his expression gave nothing away.

Smirking at your response, he taunted, "You might wanna work on your game face, doll. Otherwise this is going to be even easier than I anticipated."

Scowling at his mockery, you forced tense facial features to relax before turning your attention back to the board, vowing that he wouldn't get another reaction out of you until the game was over.

You watched as he reached out to move his knight again, his hand tan and masculine with a light dusting of dark hair on the back. They were hands that could ruthlessly beat a man to death or command a whole compound with one wave. But they were also hands that that could gently peel a band aid off your finger or delicately move chess pieces. Hands that could run teasingly across your soft flesh or wrap dangerously tight around your throat. There were so many juxtapositions to the man sitting across from you, and the more sides you discovered, the more captivated and seduced you became.

Moving your queen a few spaces to the right, but still keeping her within close proximity to the king, you divulged, "I always found the rules of this game so interesting."

"How so?" he asked, knocking out one of your pawns and adding it to his increasing pile of ivory captives.

"Well, the king can only move one space at a time, while the queen can move as far as she wants. Yet, it's the king who determines how long the game lasts. I always wondered why the king is considered the most important piece, when the queen is obviously the one with the most power."

When there was no immediate witty response, you looked up from the board and found Negan watching you. Holding your gaze, he replied, "Because if one is skilled enough to capture the king, then the game is over."

Even though he said it casually, you couldn't help but wonder if his words represented a larger metaphor for another type of "game".

Looking at the board, you realized that unless you kicked it up a notch, he was most assuredly going to win. He had started the game offensively, knocking off a few of your pawns and a knight right out of the gate. As the game went on, he continued to expertly knock out your pieces with no hesitation. Cursing inwardly, you realized that his strategy was more aggressive than you were expecting, and it was quite possible that he was going to thoroughly kick your ass, despite your earlier taunts to the contrary. However, his more offensive approach could also be his downfall, if you could adjust your own strategy accordingly.

Moving his knight sideways two spaces and forward one, he put you at a crossroads in which he was set up to take out two of your pieces. Thinking that you were stuck having to choose which of the two pieces you wanted to save and which to sacrifice, he allowed a cocky grin to cross his face.

Studying the board, you looked outside of the current dilemma and saw another, more daring solution. Instead of defensively removing one of the two pieces, as he expected, you moved a third piece offensively across the board, putting his queen in immediate danger.

His eyes darkened and the smirk drained off his face as he contemplated his next move. He begrudgingly moved his queen a few spaces across the board out of your reach, but you kept up the pursuit, repositioning your pieces until his queen was stuck in another dilemma. He had two choices: either move her out of harm's way and also out of reach of his king, leaving him much more vulnerable…or leave the queen in place, which meant you could promptly clear her off the board.

He stared at you with barely concealed annoyance before finally going on the defensive and moving his queen out of your reach, causing you to give a small smirk in response.

You continued to manipulate his pieces so that he was unable to move his queen back within view of his king, picking off some of his other pieces as you went. His demeanor appeared relaxed and carefree, but his sharp gaze betrayed how intently he was focused on the board.

Both of you were moving aggressively and staying on the offensive, which made for a captivating back and forth game where you each kept picking off the other's pieces. At this point both of you had lost most of your pawns, and he had both of your knights captive, as well as a rook and a bishop. However, you still kept on the offensive, refusing to back down as you picked off both of his bishops and a knight.

Just as you were starting to really worry that a month of carrying dinner trays was in your future, you saw a window of opportunity. If you could just line up the next couple moves a certain way, you might actually be able to coax him into a checkmate before he even realized what had happened.

Moving your remaining rook forward, you tried to maintain a calm and aloof demeanor. Negan must've sensed a shift in the air, because he looked at you intently, as if sensing a trap and trying to read it on your face. You kept your expression stone cold and unflinchingly stared back at him. He moved his queen in the direction you were hoping, his eyes glancing around the board before he lifted his fingers from the piece.

You finally allowed your lips to curve upwards into a mischievous grin. Slowly sliding your own queen the entire way across the board, his king was effectively trapped with nowhere to go. Relishing in the moment, you threw his own words from over a week ago back in his face.

"Checkmate, doll. Your move."

He stared at the board silently, as if certain that it was a mistake and that there must be some way out of the checkmate. You watched as a muscle started ticking in his jaw as he realized that he had well and truly lost. Leaning back in his chair, he regarded you silently. His gaze was so penetrating that you quickly became uncomfortable and started fidgeting in the chair.

"Remember what you told me last time we were sitting here?" he abruptly asked, causing you to jump.

Deciding that it was probably best not to answer, you sat silently and waited for him to continue.

"I believe you fucking lectured me on how I should try being nice to someone without expecting them to fuck me."

Heat crept over your cheeks at his words. You clearly remembered the conversation when he had accused you of sleeping with Ben. You had retaliated by throwing it in his face that Ben was your friend without expecting any sexual benefits in return, and then taunted Negan that perhaps he should give that concept a try himself.

Nodding in reply, you muttered, "I remember."

Chuckling, he stated, "Good."

Sitting forward in the chair, he wiped the rest of the chess pieces off the board before flipping it over. You watched as he started cleaning up the game, picking up pieces and putting them back inside the hollowed-out velvet interior of the board. Picking up handfuls of the onyx pieces you had captured, you reached across the table and added them to the growing pile. When all the pieces were returned, Negan snapped the wood shut so that it was folded in half with the chessmen securely trapped inside. You both stood up from the table and walked back into the office area, where Negan set the board back in its proper place on the floor, leaning against the bookcase.

He didn't say anything more about your accusation from last time. It appeared that he had just wanted to remind you of it, perhaps to mock your words, to show that he indeed did know how to be nice to someone without expecting them to fuck him. Bastard was breaking down all of your past assumptions and accusations, proving himself as more than just some emotionless monster who only cared about power and sex. Sigh. Life had been so much simpler when you thought he didn't have a nice bone in his body.

"So," you started, using conversation to distract yourself from such thoughts. "When's our first trip outside? I'm free today since I don't have to be in the kitchen." Excitement started to curl through you at the thought of exploring the woods.

Looking at you as if you were delusional, he stated, "We're not going fucking anywhere until your hand is fully healed."

"What?!" you exclaimed. Taking a few steps so that you were standing right in front of him, you looked him square in the eye and began, "But that's not fair…"

"I don't care if it's fucking fair," he interrupted. "You might have specified how many fucking outings, for how long, and even gave yourself fucking control of the situation while we're out there, but you didn't say _when_ I had to fucking take you."

Sputtering in response, you tried to come up with a valid argument, but he wasn't hearing it. "I'm not taking you out there with fucking stitches on your finger. You can't even bend the fucking thing, and yet you want to go traipsing off through the woods. Jesus fuck, look at what happened last time you were out there when you still had ten functioning fucking fingers."

Looking up at him beseechingly, you argued, "But you'll be with me this time."

"So?" he gruffly responded.

"So I know I'll be safe," you blurted.

The words surprised you as much as they appeared to surprise him. Even though you hadn't meant to say it, it was the truth. Terrified as you were of both the feelings you were developing for him and the burning desire to fuck him until you couldn't stand, Negan did indeed make you feel safe. You knew that so long as he was with you no one living, dead, or otherwise would harm you. And that in itself was a scary realization to make, because feeling safe with him meant that…dear God, it meant that you _trusted him_.

Shocked into silence at this realization, you were unsure what to say or do next. Negan appeared to be feeling the same way; he stared down at you with a thoughtful expression, as if he was trying to solve a complex puzzle.

Reaching out, he brushed a wisp of hair back from your temple, rubbing the silky strand between two of his fingers before tucking it behind your ear. You shivered at the feel of his rough fingers brushing against the sensitive lobe. He seemed to finally realize what he was doing, because he jerked his hand back from you, his eyes widening as if startled by his own actions.

Your mouth felt parched and it took two unsuccessful attempts before you were finally able to swallow. Looking up at Negan, who was still staring blankly at the hair tucked behind your ear, you whispered, "I should probably go now."

Giving a quick, jerky nod in response, Negan turned and walked over to his desk, pretending to look interested in the papers scattered all across the top.

"Don't forget to take a book," he stated huskily, still staring downwards.

Unable to properly focus on picking a book when your head was spinning from what had just happened, you walked over and grabbed the first one you saw off a middle shelf. You didn't even bother to look at the title, certain that something so simple as reading was beyond your comprehension at the moment.

Holding it up, you stated, "Got one."

He didn't respond, which was fine because you were already walking to the door. It wasn't until you were out in the hallway and walking back to your room that you looked down at the book in your hand.

Hysterical laughter erupted from your throat when you read the title, to the point where you had to stop walking and lean against a nearby wall. A hand came up to wipe tears of laughter off your cheeks. It was as if you were releasing all of the pent-up emotion from today's events. First the shock of running into Maria, then the intensity of the chess game, then whatever the hell had just happened back in the office with Negan. You wondered if he would notice which book you had grabbed, and if he would also find it ironic and humorous. Pushing yourself off the wall, you started walking back down the hallway. Looking down at the novel again caused a couple more quiet giggles to escape.

You had grabbed a copy of _The Scarlet Letter_.

Karma really was a bitch sometimes.


	18. A Suspicious Adversary

You woke up the next morning bright and early, refusing to oversleep like you had the previous morning. You had spent the rest of the afternoon yesterday wandering around the compound, checking out the garden and a few other areas that you didn't normally visit before using some of your points to do a load of laundry and buy a few necessities at the commissary. When it had gotten close to dinnertime, you had been unsure whether to go eat in the cafeteria or if that would be considered breaking the "rule" Negan put forth for you to stay away from the kitchen. Deciding to play it safe, you had wandered back to your room to fold the freshly cleaned laundry. Not long after you had finished folding, one of kitchen staff had arrived at your room with a dinner tray, which you had eaten while reading some of _The Scarlet Letter_.

You had only been half-invested with the novel since your thoughts kept drifting back over the chess match and your interaction with Negan. You also thought about the three upcoming trips outside, excited that you had found another way to go outside the compound that didn't involve trying to bribe Dwight or another guard. You just hoped that Negan would go through with the bet and wouldn't drag his feet or find excuses to put it off. You planned on going to the medic in a few more days to see about getting your stitches out, that way Negan couldn't argue that you weren't healed enough. He seemed like the kind of man whose word wasn't easily broken, but you weren't taking any chances.

Getting dressed, you headed down to the kitchen for breakfast. You had used some points to buy granola bars at the commissary, but decided to forego them in favor of checking in with Ben and the rest of the staff. It was a bit ridiculous that you could miss the kitchen staff and the kitchen in general so much after being absent less than two days, but being a cook was a large part of your identity now, and you felt bereft not being there.

Ben and a couple other staff members were busy serving breakfast when you walked into the kitchen. When he looked up from stirring the oatmeal and saw you standing there, Ben grinned in welcome.

"I should've known you'd be down here bright and early as soon as your kitchen ban was lifted," he joked happily.

Furrowing your brows, you playfully asked, "What kitchen ban?"

You had been pretty certain no one else knew that it was Negan who had ordered you away from the kitchen, but you felt a small flicker of panic at the thought that maybe Ben had figured it out.

"Sherry said the medic told you to rest for at least a day. I must say, I'm surprised you took the advice."

"Oh, the medic…right. You know me, always one to listen to medical advice," you joked, relieved he didn't know about Negan's extra interest in your injury.

Ben gave a bark of laughter as if you had just made a hilarious joke, which caused you to scowl and smack his arm playfully. Ben just chuckled in response as he refocused on filling the breakfast bowls with oatmeal.

You helped yourself to one of the bowls sitting on a nearby tray, grabbing some honey off a shelf and squeezing a liberal amount on top of the grey sludge in an attempt to add some flavor.

After eating and chatting with Ben for a bit, you decided to leave the kitchen and get out of Ben's way before he could shoo you out himself. Walking back to your room, you grabbed a towel, some clean clothes, and the small plastic basket that held your shampoo and soap products. Since it was still too early to start focusing on meal prep for dinner, you figured it wouldn't hurt to take this time to shower.

Usually you showered early in the morning when first waking up, but your stitched finger meant that showering was bound to be a longer and more arduous task than usual. Therefore, it made more sense to wait until the morning rush was over so that you could take your time without worrying about a line of people waiting impatiently for you to finish.

Walking into the shower area, you were pleased to see that it was entirely empty except for Trixie, who had just stepped out of a shower stall, and one older woman who was finishing getting dressed. The shower area was set up similar to a pre-apocalyptic gym room, all tiled floors and bare, white walls. There were rows of lockers in which one could throw their things while they showered, with a few wooden benches to sit on if needed while one dried off or got dressed. There was a row of three individual shower stalls that were separated by tiled cement walls on the sides and heavy off-white curtains that covered the entrances. This was just the women's showering area; the men's was in a separate area across the hall, which you guessed was set up pretty much the same as this one.

Walking past the older woman and Trixie, you put the pile of clean clothes on an empty bench and started stripping off your clothes. You saw Trixie walk over out of your peripheral vision, fully dressed and running a large-toothed comb through her wet hair.

"Hey! I was hoping I'd run into you today!" she said animatedly.

Having never really communicated with Trixie outside of the kitchen, her excitement took you a little off guard.

"Oh? Did everything go alright with dinner last night?" you asked, thinking that she wanted to discuss something work-related.

"Oh yea, dinner was fine! A few people were asking about you and if you were alright, so I told em you were on medical leave for the day."

"It wasn't medical leave, Trixie," you said a bit coldly. "I just had a couple stitches." You weren't sure why, but Trixie seemed to know how to get under your skin and grate your nerves faster than just about anyone. Well, anyone except Negan.

As if she psychically knew you had thought his name, Trixie twirled a piece of wet hair around her finger shyly and giggled before stating, "Negan even came to the cafeteria last night. He requested a tray and then left, but it was still kinda weird."

You were grateful that the older woman had left the showering area, leaving you and Trixie alone. The last thing you needed was for anyone to overhear her talking about Negan and get curious.

Looking off into the distance as she continued to twirl her hair, she asked airily, "I wonder why he would come down to get a tray on the one day that you weren't there?"

Suddenly she focused her gaze sharply on you, all trace of whimsy gone as she waited expectantly for an answer.

Uncertain what she was playing at, you responded calmly, "I have no idea. I'm sure it was a coincidence."

Chances were the jerk had probably been checking to make sure you followed his orders not to set foot in the kitchen, but no way in hell would you ever tell Trixie that. Stripping off the rest of your clothes and pulling the towel around your body, you walked over to the nearest shower stall, stepping inside and pulling the curtain closed behind you.

Showering was such a pain in the ass with a stitched finger. Much as you tried not to get the stitches wet, it was virtually impossible. At least the cut had stopped oozing and you didn't have to keep a band aid on it anymore, which allowed for some fresh air to hit it. Sighing, you ran shampoo through your hair as best you could, hissing when some of it hit the wounded finger, the burning sensation continuing even after using your wash cloth to wipe away the suds. Rinsing the shampoo out of your hair, you tipped your head back so that the warm water hit your face. It was actually nice to not be rushed by a line full of people, to be able to take your time and enjoy the shower.

The random thought entered your head that you had never seen Negan or any of his wives anywhere near this part of the compound. They must have their own private showering area somewhere that they used instead. Your thoughts drifted to images of Negan showering. You tried to imagine what he would look like naked under a spray of water, rivulets of soap and water trailing over his wet, bare skin…

"So have you talked to Negan recently?" came a voice through the shower curtain, interrupting what might've been a really nice fantasy.

Trixie was proving to be a real pain in the ass. You had assumed she had left, but apparently she was still loitering outside the stall, talking loudly in an attempt to engage you in conversation through the heavy shower curtain.

You pretended that you hadn't heard her and continued to rinse your hair. Turning off the water a couple minutes later and wrapping the towel around your body, you almost groaned in annoyance when you opened the curtain and saw that she was still standing there

"Do you need something, Trixie?" you asked, unable to keep a small thread of annoyance out of your tone.

"I was just wondering if you told Negan about cutting your finger," she stated. Subtlety was obviously not her strong suit.

"And why would I tell him something like that?" you asked, trying to sound disinterested in hopes that she would take the hint. No such luck.

"I just figured that he might want to know about something like that, seeing as how he's all interested in you and what not."

Running the towel down your body before wrapping it around your wet hair, you pulled on a pair of clean underwear and jeans. As tempting as the mental fantasy was, you told yourself that it wouldn't be appropriate to strangle Trixie and leave her in one of the stalls for someone else to find.

She continued to watch suspiciously while you finished getting dressed in a bra and light blue t-shirt. Finally turning to her with a blank expression on your face, you challenged, "Trixie, what exactly is it that you're trying to get at?"

You had hoped that being direct would throw her off guard, but instead she smirked as if she had been expecting your question.

"You can act cool and collected all you want, but I see that something is going on with you and Negan."

Scoffing in response, you asked, "And what exactly is going on?"

"I'm not sure yet, but I plan to find out." Looking contemplative, she ran her eyes up and down your body as if looking for evidence, "I don't think he's fucked you yet, since you're not all glowing and such, but I bet he will soon."

Shocked at her bluntness, you raised your eyebrows at her before giving a closed mouth laugh. The little chit had a lot of nerve, but you weren't about to let her shock or anger you into an admission. In fact, you decided that the best course of action was to be blunt as well and hope that it shocked her enough that she would back off.

Affecting a condescending tone, you lectured, "Trixie, dear, has no one ever taught you about the birds and the bees? For one, a woman doesn't "glow" just because she's had a cock inside her. Also, just because you see a man and woman exchanging one or two sentences with one another, that doesn't automatically mean that they're fucking."

Raising a sardonic eyebrow, Trixie grinned as if impressed by your boldness. "The birds and the bees? Only old people call it that. And if you've never glowed after a good fuck, then I kinda feel bad for you, because the sex you had in the past must've been pretty boring."

Gaping at her in shock, she continued before you could respond.

"A man like Negan would know exactly what to do with his cock, hands, and mouth, and I guarantee any woman would be glowing after experiencing all three of those. I've talked to Sherry, so I know I'm not exaggerating. Don't try and make me look stupid just because I'm younger than you. I know the desire to fuck when I see it, and the way Negan looked at you the other day spoke volumes. If you don't want to admit anything to me, that's fine. I'll just watch it all unfold and be ready to say 'I told you so'."

Stunned by her vulgarity and arrogant attitude, you were uncertain how to respond. Your plan had backfired and you were the one who was shocked into silence rather than her.

"I was just hoping you might give me a couple tips on how to catch his attention, since my usual tricks aren't being very effective. I've always had a thing for older, rougher men in power. Maybe I'll ask Sherry if she can arrange for me to take him a dinner tray tonight," she stated with an angelic smile and giggle that you now realized were all an elaborate act to appear more innocent than she really was. Before you could even respond, she had given a little wave and flounced across the tiles out of the bathroom, leaving you standing there wondering what the hell had just happened.

Thinking back over your interactions with Negan, you tried to figure out what the hell Trixie had meant by "the way Negan looked at you." The only interaction Trixie had to go off of was his conversation with you in the kitchen last week during his "inspection," since all your other encounters with him had been in his private quarters or your own room. While he had acted a bit out of character that day by commanding you to bring his dinner tray, and touching your neck when no one was looking, there still wasn't any concrete proof that his interactions with you were any different than how he treated other kitchen staff. You were certain that Trixie was just trying to manipulate you into a confession to further her own gossip. That girl was trouble with a capital T, and the fact that she appeared so unassuming only made her even more dangerous. You'd just have to be even more careful from now on, and you definitely needed to have a conversation with Maria soon. She wasn't the greatest liar in the world, and if Trixie got to her first and started asking questions, you might actually have something to worry about.

Leaving the bathroom, you took the towel, dirty clothes, and shower supplies back to your room before heading down to the kitchen. You needed something other than Trixie's accusations to focus on, and working on dinner prep was the logical solution.

After going over the meal plan with Ben, you went to work helping prep the food. Ben had suggested a simple lentil and vegetable soup since the gardeners had brought in a few more onions, as well as some carrots, that would go nicely in the recipe. Ben had automatically objected when you offered to cut up the vegetables and had directed you to oversee the small group of newer staff members who were wrapping silverware. You knew he was doing it because of what had happened last time you handled a knife, and much as you wanted to protest, part of you found his concern touching. However, today was his one-time free pass to tell you what to do, and tomorrow you planned on taking back the reins. Between him and Negan, there was only so much concerned male attention you could stand in regards to a stupid little finger injury.

You attempted to help wrap the silverware, but your progress was agonizingly slow due to having to keep your stitched finger up and out of the way. Once the silverware was all wrapped and piled into a large bin, you went over to watch as Ben took turns stirring the multiple large pots that held the simmering soup. He tried to step back and hand you the spoon to take over, but you declined, content to sit back rather than try to jump in at the last minute.

Leaning against the counter, you chatted with Ben casually as he stirred. You watched as Trixie and two other staff members took the bin of silverware and trays of glasses filled with water out to the cafeteria to set the tables. She hadn't said a word to you since arriving in the kitchen, nor had she even glanced in your direction. You weren't stupid enough to think that meant she was backing down from her earlier taunts; she seemed too tenacious to give up that easily. Hopefully some more enticing scandal or bit of gossip would soon reach her ears and cause her focus to shift elsewhere.

Just then, Trixie came practically skipping back into the kitchen, her gaze fixated on you. Dread filled you at the look of glee on her face. She came over to where you and Ben were standing and sing-songed, "Guess who's coming to pay us a visit?"

No….it couldn't be. Your luck couldn't possibly be that bad right now…

But it was, because at that moment Negan stepped in the kitchen, his eyes scanning the area before locking onto you. The rest of the staff watched silently as he walked across the cement floor, stopping just a few feet in front of you. He twirled Lucille on his shoulder and stated sarcastically, "Well, look who's fucking back to work. Just in time too, since I have a fucking job for you."


	19. Supersize Me

Everyone in the kitchen was still frozen and watching as Negan announced that he had job for you. Staring at him in confusion for a few seconds before composing yourself, you asked, "What job would that be?"

"I need you to give me a full fucking inventory of the pantry for the upcoming supply run."

"Another one?" you blurted without thinking. _Shit, woman, think before you speak!_

Negan arched a brow and sharply commanded, "Did I ask for your fucking opinion?"

 _Shit._ "No, not at all. Sorry," you stated meekly, staring down at the tiled floor. You had almost forgotten that the Negan in front of you was commander and all-powerful Negan, not the relaxed and joking Negan who you had played chess with yesterday.

A quiet voice piped up, "Mr. Negan, is there any way I can be of assistance to you, as well?" Trixie was standing to your left with her hip thrust out and a lock of hair from her pony tail twirled around her finger as she looked at Negan expectantly.

Slowly sliding his eyes over to her, Negan gave a gruff, "If I wanted your fucking assistance, I would've fucking asked you."

Turning back to you, he barked, "Let's get this show on the fucking road! You can't do a fucking inventory if you're just fucking standing there," he said with a wave of Lucille in the direction of the pantry.

Jumping into action, you grabbed a pen and paper out of a nearby drawer and led Negan across the large kitchen to the pantry while Trixie glared at your retreating backs. The pantry was basically like a huge walk-in closet that was set clear in the back of the kitchen. It had a cement floor that was filled with rows upon rows of wooden shelves which were packed with various foods. Walking over to the first row of shelves, you started scanning for missing sections of food and marking the items down on the paper. Negan followed behind you, silent and watching.

His silence was making you nervous, so you tried to engage him in conversation, "When are you leaving for the run?"

"Tonight," came the gruff reply.

You tried to ignore the pang of disappointment that his response caused. You knew supply runs were an important part of keeping the compound running, but your stupid subconscious was still sad that it meant Negan would be gone again.

"That's pretty soon. Are we running out of supplies already?" you casually asked, hoping that he wouldn't get annoyed with your interrogation. While he had automatically shut down any questions out in the kitchen, you got the sense that he was a little more relaxed now that you were out of sight of the others.

Staring at a shelf of canned corn in front of him, he replied, "I'm trying to keep Rick the Prick on his lily-white little toes, in case he's planning on fucking with me. Fucker won't expect another visit so soon, especially since we'll arrive at the ass crack of dawn. I figure we'll take more of his shit and give him something to fucking consider before he tries to fucking go up against yours truly."

"So why did you make it a point to ask me to do the inventory?" you wondered aloud.

"Because you're head of the fucking kitchen," he replied matter-of-factly, as if it were obvious. "Also because you come up with those weird ass recipes everyone seems to fucking like, so write down whatever ingredients you need extra of to keep the people fucking happy."

Negan hadn't been meeting your gaze at all during this entire exchange, instead focusing his attention on the shelves of food as if they were some intriguing riddle. His behavior seemed a little off, which gave you the feeling that there was something he wasn't telling you.

Turning to fully face him, you probed, "Is this really what you meant when you said there was a job for me?"

Finally tearing his gaze from the shelves and looking at you, he sighed and ran the hand not holding Lucille over his beard. "You're fucking perceptive, doll. I'll give you that. No, there's something else."

Waiting expectantly, you watched as he fidgeted with Lucille before admitting, "I need you to keep an eye on Dwight while I'm gone."

Of all the possible things that could've come out of his mouth, that was not at all one you had been expecting.

"What? Why?" you asked dumbly.

"Fucker's been acting fishy lately. He disappears for periods of time and acts fucking paranoid when I ask where he's been. I want to know what the fuck he's up to."

"But why are you asking me? Can't one of your men do it? Or even one of your wives?" You were completely confused about why Negan was asking you to do this. Trying a new recipe or bringing someone a dinner tray was fine, but spying on someone in the compound? Last time you checked, your resume skills didn't include undercover investigation.

"Because he'll fucking know something is up if one of my men follow him. And my wives are too busy lounging around eating fucking bonbons and painting their toenails to be any help."

While on one level his answer made sense, it was also surprising to hear him indirectly say that he trusted you with this more than any of his wives. _File that in the increasing list of Negan facts you need to process at a later date._

Thinking through the logistics, you stated, "So you want me to follow him 24/7? That's going to be pretty much impossible with my kitchen duties."

Looking at you with a smirk, Negan replied, "Take it easy, doll. You don't have to follow the bastard every fucking second of the day…just if you notice him going somewhere in the compound. It's not a goddamn operations mission, I'm just asking you to keep a fucking eye out for anything suspicious while I'm not here."

You pursed your lips in response, which prompted Negan to say, "So is that a fucking yes, doll?"

Looking up at him, you grinned slyly before saying, "I'll do it, but only if you ask nicely."

His eyebrows rose in response as he exclaimed, "The fuck does that mean? The fact that I even asked at all was me being nice!" Although his words were harsh, you could tell that he was teasing by the twinkle in his eyes and the grin threatening to quirk his lips upward.

Lifting a sardonic eyebrow, you mocked, "I think taking out all the 'fucks' and adding a 'please' instead would be much better."

He curled his lips into a sneer before cleverly joking, "Doll, taking out all the fucks just makes for a boring ass situation."

You groaned and rolled your eyes in response, but couldn't stop the grin that took over your face at his jesting. You enjoyed these instances of witty banter with him, the way he was able to let his guard down and joke with you when no one else was around. In fact, if you weren't mistaken, these teasing, sarcastic conversations could almost be considered flirting. _Almost?_ your subconscious mocked.

Assessing your expression, he affirmed, "So if I ask nicely, you'll do it?"

Nodding, you put a hand on your hip and tilted your head to the side, waiting expectantly.

Sighing loudly and looking skyward as if to ask for divine patience, Negan looked back down at you and calmly stated, "Doll, will you _please_ do me the honor of following Dwight and seeing what the fu-…what the hell he is up to?"

It was all you could do not to laugh out loud when he caught himself mid-curse. Nodding in acceptance, you replied, "Why, of course, sir. I would be glad to."

His eyes flashed at your response and he showcased a wolfy grin before saying, "Me saying please makes you call me sir? Now _that_ I could get used to."

You didn't even have time to hide the blush that flared across your cheeks at his words. And despite the low lighting in the pantry, you were pretty sure he saw, since he gave a chuckle before gesturing to the list in your hand.

"Anything else you want me to keep an eye out for on the run?"

Knowing that it might not be the smartest response, you hesitantly stated, "I could really use some more hawthorn berries."

He glared at you in response. "I know what you're fucking getting at."

"And?" you asked hopefully.

He gave you a look as if you were being an annoying child constantly asking to go get ice cream. "We'll go sometime after I get back."

"That's not very specific."

"Doll, it's the best fucking answer you're gonna get at the moment. I agreed to the deal, so it'll happen. Cool your fucking jets."

You rolled your eyes at him, not even caring that he could see it, and turned back to the pantry shelves to continue writing down needed food supplies. Negan watched silently as you scanned the shelves, scratching down needed items and estimated amounts on the yellow note pad. Since it hadn't been long since the last supply run, there weren't many items that were lacking, so the inventory only took a couple minutes. When you were done, you handed the list to him.

He quickly scanned over it before asking, "Are there any other supplies besides food that would be helpful?"

"What do you mean?"

"Like kitchen appliances? Or even things at the commissary?"

Surprised he had asked, you mulled the question over for a long moment before responding.

"We could use a couple more pans, and maybe another blender, since the one we have is about to croak. As for at commissary, obviously some better books would be nice, but that's not a must. However…"

There was only one thing that stood out to you that was lacking from the commissary, but for some reason you felt slightly embarrassed bringing it up to Negan.

Clearing your throat, you stated, "It would be nice if we could get more variety in our tampons."

Negan's eyebrows shot up almost to his hairline.

"More variety? What the fuck does that mean?"

"I mean different sizes. There's only ever one kind in the commissary, and while they might all seem the same to you, not every woman needs super-sized tampons. Some regular and light ones would be nice to have as well."

He appeared to think this over, as if you had presented him with the answer to a puzzle he didn't even know he needed the answer to.

"I'll see what I can do," he stated, before heading towards the pantry exit.

You started to follow him out of the pantry, but he stopped right before crossing the threshold and turned back to you with a sly grin.

"Although I'm not sure I agree with your earlier statement, doll. I'd argue that super-sized is _exactly_ what every woman needs."

You should be used to his innuendos til now, but you were still so shocked that you tripped at his words. Your sneakers caught on nothing but thin air, causing you to reach out and grab a nearby shelf in order to catch yourself before you hit the concrete.

He gave a full-bellied laugh in response at the sight of you clinging to the shelf. After catching his breath, he snickered, "Now, doll, I thought we already made it clear that you aren't supposed to fall for me."

Annoyed at both his laughing and your own clumsiness, you glared at him, stuck your nose up in the air, and marched right past him and out of the pantry.

You walked across the tiled floor with Negan trailing along behind you. A glance over your shoulder confirmed that his expression was now composed back into its usual scowl, his aura changed from relaxed and light-hearted to commanding and unapproachable. You walked back over to where Ben was serving the now-finished soup into bowls. A hush had fallen across the kitchen, and except for the clanking of bowls and patter of feet against the tiles, there was no noise or conversation. Negan continued walking past where you stood without a word or glance in your direction, leaving the kitchen with a whistle on his lips and the inventory list in his hand.

It wasn't until after he had left that you registered the fact that multiple staff members were openly staring at you, while others were making a failed effort not to openly stare. Even Ben kept glancing over at you before darting his eyes back to the soup. And of course Trixie had a huge shit-eating grin on her face while she carried a tray full of soup bowls out of the kitchen and into the cafeteria.

Turning to Ben, you asked, "What the heck is wrong with everyone? Did something happen while I was gone?"

Ben didn't answer right away, his attention focused on filling up the rest of a tray of bowls with soup. After the tray was taken away by another serving girl, he finally turned to you.

"What was the job Negan wanted you to do?"

Taken aback by what appeared to be a change of subject, you replied, "He just wanted the inventory list for his supply run, and he asked if we needed any kitchen appliances. I told him we could use a couple pans and a blender."

Ben scanned your face as if looking for clues of something.

"And that's all he wanted?"

Getting annoyed at his interrogation, you snapped, "Yes, that's all he wanted. Now are you going to tell me why you're looking at me like that?"

He dropped his eyes to the ground in embarrassment, causing you to instantly regret your harsh tone.

"Ben, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to snap at you like that." Trying to lighten the mood, you added, "I guess being in a closed space with Negan is enough to make anyone irritable, right?"

Ben looked back up at you, but he still had a neutral expression on his face.

"Normally I'd agree with you, since Negan can be a real jerk, but he didn't seem to be irritable in the pantry."

Starting to sweat at the scrutiny on Ben's face, you gave a forced laugh and stated, "Oh trust me, he was an irritable ass, as usual."

At that moment Trixie came skipping up to where you were standing with a fresh tray of empty bowls that needed to be filled. She must've caught the tail end of your response to Ben, because she gave a giggle before taunting, "You must've done a good job of cheering him up. I don't think any of us have ever heard Negan laugh like that before."

Suddenly it made sense why Ben and the others had been looking at you strangely: they had heard Negan laughing when you tripped. While with anyone else it wouldn't be a big deal, Negan never laughed in public, not unless it was maniacal laughter while he was punishing someone for an infraction. The pantry had seemed like a safe place for you to let your guard down with him, and he had done so as well, but you quickly realized how dumb it was to assume anywhere outside his private quarters was "safe" from listening ears.

Shrugging nonchalantly, but knowing that you weren't very convincing, you tried to throw together a logical explanation. "He said that we were getting good reviews lately with the new recipes, so I asked him if we could all get a raise in our hourly points. I guess I'm lucky that he thought it was a joke and didn't take me seriously."

You weren't sure if Ben completely believed you, but he nodded and his shoulders seemed to relax a bit at your words. Trixie, on the other hand, gave you an expression that obviously said "yea fucking right."

Taking the tray of bowls out of her hands, you ordered her to go make rounds at the tables with a water pitcher and refill any needed glasses. You could tell she wanted to argue, but instead she gave a scowl and walked off. Perhaps it was petty, but ordering her around gave you a small sense of satisfaction.

After she was gone, Ben gave a small grin as you put the tray on the counter for him to start filling the bowls.

"What?" you asked playfully?

"She really annoys you, doesn't she," he joked.

"Who, Trixie? Nah, not really."

Ben gave a skeptical look, which caused you to nudge him gently with your shoulder and say, "Alright, fine. I guess she does annoy me a little bit. She's like a Barbie on a perpetual sugar high."

Laughing in response to your description, Ben teased, "Careful, if you're not nice to her, she won't show us the way to her dream house."

You were still smiling a couple minutes later as you took the tray of full soup bowls out of the kitchen and started serving them to waiting diners. You could always count on Ben to lighten the mood and be on your side.

Setting down the last bowls in front of a table full of hungry compound members, the smile left your face when you turned around and saw Dwight enter the cafeteria. You had always gotten along amicably with him, but Negan's words earlier caused you to be suspicious. Negan might not be the nicest leader, but he held the compound together and made sure everyone was safe, so long as they followed his rules. If Dwight or anyone else was trying to put that safety in jeopardy, you wouldn't hesitate to throw them to the wolves for the greater good.

 _Alright, buddy,_ you thought as Dwight sat down at a nearby table. _It's time to see what you're up to._


	20. Operation Dwight

Author's Note: Okay, so I'm half excited and half terrified to see what y'all think about Dwight's "secret" because I'm definitely veering away from canon comic-book Dwight, mostly because his actions in the comics led to things happening to Negan that frankly wouldn't make any sense to put in this story if I want a relationship to continue developing between him and "you". Please let me know your thoughts on the twist!

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You watched Dwight for the rest of dinner, going back and forth from the kitchen to the cafeteria and refilling water glasses as an excuse to keep checking on him. However, you didn't see anything suspicious; he was even pleasant when you went over to fill up his glass, saying thanks and giving a quick smile before returning to his food. You weren't overly surprised; in fact, you sincerely doubted that you'd be able to find much of anything on Dwight in the few days Negan would be gone. If Negan couldn't figure out what Dwight was up to, what made him think that you could do so?

After dinner was finished, you considered wandering outside to watch the men pack up for the supply run. Knowing that you just wanted to get a glimpse of Negan before he left, you decided it was a ridiculous idea and so instead spent the evening in your room attempting to read more of _The Scarlet Letter_. Concentration was impossible, and after repeating the same sentence about a dozen times you gave up and laid on the bed, staring at the ceiling. You wondered if Negan had left yet or if he was still outside barking orders at the men.

You also wondered what it would be like to go on a supply run, to be in a vehicle again and see sights other than this compound. Even though it was dangerous, part of you would love to join in on the excitement, even if it was just to scavenge an abandoned town or take prepared goods from an occupied one. However, you doubted Negan would ever let you tag along, no matter how many rounds of chess you won.

The next day didn't provide any better results for what you were now mentally referring to as "Operation Dwight." You had seen him only once in the afternoon, and he was entering the men's shower area at the same time that you were leaving the women's area. There was nothing weird about that, and the only other time you saw him was again at dinner, where he ate alone and only engaged in the minimal conversation of saying hello and thank you when you served him a dinner plate.

It wasn't until the second day after Negan had left that you finally struck gold.

You started the day by heading down to the kitchen bright and early. You had been unable to sleep as well the past couple nights and reluctantly admitted that it was because your thoughts kept drifting to Negan. You wondered if he was currently safe or if his confrontation with Rick had backfired. Wanting to distract yourself, you insisted on helping with breakfast in order to pass the time.

After helping serve breakfast and clean up, Ben invited you to hang with him outside. Since you rarely got to spend any quality time with him outside of the kitchen, mostly because it was almost impossible to tear him away from it, you jumped at the opportunity to get him outside for some fresh air.

The two of you sat across from one another at a picnic table in front of the compound and chatted casually about random topics. Some of the topics were light-hearted and fun, such as discussing what TV shows and restaurants you missed from before the apocalypse. There were also deeper, more serious conversations, such as brainstorming what could've caused the walkers and what kind of cures might still be found, if there were any scientists left alive. Ben was convinced that there was a research team underground somewhere furiously working on a cure. While you had some serious doubts about that, his excitement and positivity were definitely contagious, so you nodded and went along with his theory.

This was one of the reasons why you liked Ben so much, and why your friendship with him worked. He was such an optimistic and caring person, plus you could be both joking and serious with him without feeling as though he was going to judge you. Also, despite Negan's accusation, you didn't feel any type of sexual attraction with Ben. It was a comfortable friendship, and one you felt lucky to have in such times.

However, you still had a dull throb of guilt in your chest when thinking about your dishonesty towards Ben in regards to Negan. Much as you wanted to confide in Ben, your deep-rooted distrust still kept him at a distance. While he had broken down most of your walls with his unwavering friendship these past couple months, there was still a metaphorical chain link fence keeping you from trusting him enough to discuss Negan. At this point you had told so many lies in order to keep your interactions with Negan a secret that you hoped it never backfired on you or negatively impacted your friendship with Ben.

After a couple hours of chatting, laughing, and even debating, you both decided to head back inside to get started on dinner. The meal was going to be peanut butter "sandwiches" made with frozen dough, along with some homemade chicken noodle soup, with said noodles also being derived from the frozen dough and the "chicken" being canned chicken mixed with broth and some spices. There were also some leftover carrots left from the garden that were going to be added for some extra flair and crunch.

The dinner process went well, although Trixie seemed to be watching you like a hawk. Every time you turned around you caught her staring at you, almost as if she were expecting you to have a breakdown while Negan was gone. Ignoring her, you carried on preparing the meal, happy to once again be in charge of the kitchen and able to do most tasks on your own despite your injury. However, you did conveniently give any chopping and dicing jobs to Ben, just to be on the safe side for the time being.

While you might be failing at Negan's undercover job, at least there was one positive thing about the past couple days: your finger was healing. It had gotten a little itchy around the stitches, which you hoped meant they were almost ready to come out. It had only been 4 days since the accident, and the medic had said to give the stitches 7-10 days, but you were positive that they would be able to come out a little earlier than that. You definitely wanted them out for Negan's return in order to prove you were ready for your first outside adventure. But until then, you were making sure not to use the finger too much and cleaning it with soap and warm water multiple times each day.

Once dinner had been served and all of the diners left, you sat at a table with Ben and the rest of the staff eating your own dinners. Usually it was after eating that you and the others left, leaving only the newer staff members, who were on cleanup duty, to wash all the dishes and put them away. However, tonight you lingered in the kitchen, sitting at a counter with a notepad and listing off recipe combinations until way after even the dishwashers had left.

If you were being honest, you were doing more doodling than recipe brainstorming. You could've gone back to your room, but the thought of sitting alone in bed seemed depressing and lonely. Or maybe it was just that the compound in general felt lonely without Negan's aura around to fill it up.

You weren't sure how long you sat there in a daze, your mind wandering to thoughts of Negan, thoughts of Dwight and what he could be up to, and thoughts of Maria and what you were going to say when you talked to her. You were more willingly to admit that you missed Negan during this supply run compared to how you had felt the last time he left. You still would never admit it verbally, but internally you couldn't deny that the halls seemed a little empty without his whistling, and your mood was a little flat without his deep, gravelly voice hurling sarcasm and taunts your way.

Doing the mental math, you realized that it had been about three weeks since Negan had run into you out in the woods. Three weeks since you had been spun off your axis by the serious, gruff man who had previously only brought fear and dislike. The same man who you were starting to realize, while still serious and gruff, could also be funny, light-hearted, and…dare you say it…caring. If someone had told you three weeks ago that you would sit here today and call Negan caring, as well as that you would miss having private interactions with him while he was gone, you'd have laughed in their face and told them to lay off the alcohol. In fact, if anyone had tried to tell you that they themselves saw a different side of Negan after only three weeks, you'd have probably taken them to the medic and demanded they be given a psychiatric evaluation.

So then what the fuck was wrong with _your_ head that you believed three weeks had really made that big of a difference?

It wasn't as though Negan acted any differently around the compound, or that he was any different with his men or his wives. Hell, he was just as mean and tough as ever, ready to dole out punishment anytime someone committed an infraction.

And yet…and yet something seemed different. Whereas he was still vulgar and had a quick temper, when you two were alone you lost your fear of him. Or at least, you lost the fear that he would physically punish or harm you. Instead, there was a new fear bubbling underneath the surface; one that might actually be even worse than the fear of punishment or physical pain.

The new fear was that you were starting to really like and trust him. And that, _that_ was so much more dangerous. Whereas fearing and disliking him could lead to physical pain, trusting and liking him could lead to having that trust broken, which could then result in emotional pain. And considering the guy had five wives whom he was quick to remind you he was fucking, it didn't seem as though he felt the same way towards you. _Did you really expect him to like you back?_ your subconscious lectured. _Are you crazy?! What the hell makes you so special that he would change his code of conduct for you? You should've just fucked him when it wouldn't mean anything and left it at that._

Which brought a whole new realization: you definitely couldn't just fuck Negan now. Not that you had planned on doing that before, no matter how tempting the idea had been. But now your feelings about him were…well, the fact that you could even say there _were_ any feelings told you just how messed up this whole situation was. And physically fucking him would just mentally fuck you up even more. Like what if he was really good at it? _Like he wouldn't be absolutely amazing at it._ And what if you wanted to do it again, or your stupid emotions kicked in and made you want something more than just sex? _His dick would probably make any woman want more and more and more…_

Sick of the inner debate between your brain and subconscious, you shook yourself back to reality. Getting up from the counter, you glanced at a clock on the wall and were shocked to see that it was almost 10pm, meaning you had been sitting and daydreaming about Negan for way longer than was necessary or sane. Unfortunately, you weren't tired at all. Usually most people were in bed by now, since they had to get up early and start working on their various tasks around the compound if they wanted to finish by dinnertime. You were lucky in that working in the kitchen meant you had one of the few jobs that didn't start until the afternoon, even if it did go later into the evening than other jobs.

Turning off the kitchen lights, you walked through the cafeteria and stepped out into the hall just in time to see Dwight turn the corner at the other end. Shocked, you froze before automatically going into alert mode. Excitement pumped through your veins as you were certain that this could be the chance to get some information about whatever he was hiding.

You quietly scurried down the hall after him, hugging the wall when you got to the end and peeking around the corner. He was at the end of the next hallway, looking to his left and right before ducking into the stairwell.

 _Suspicious indeed,_ your subconscious whispered.

You sprinted after him, slowly opening the door to the stairwell just a crack so that you could hear his footsteps go up what sounded like one flight before he opened the door and left. Entering the stairwell and quietly sneaking up the steps, you hoped your hearing had been correct in pinpointing him at just one floor up. You quietly opened the door to the next floor, praying it wouldn't squeak and alert him to your presence. Poking your head out of the door, you saw him walking down the long hallway that led to the shower area. You entered the hallway and pulled the door to the stairwell quietly closed behind you. Tiptoeing down the hall about ten feet, you ducked behind a large cleaning cart that was sitting up against the left side of the hallway.

Squatting behind the cart, you felt your adrenaline pumping at the thought that you might be about to uncover some grand secret about Dwight, one that could impact the entire compound. You watched him through a small crack between the shelves of the cart, which were currently full of towels and cleaning products. The large trash bin attached to one end hid your body, so you were certain that Dwight wouldn't be able to see you unless he had extra amazing vision and was specifically looking for you.

This assumption was proven correct when Dwight got to the end of the hall and paused at the door to the women's shower area. He looked to his left and right before turning and looking back down the hall, your breath stopping in your throat as he appeared to look right in your direction. He was obviously unable to see you or anything else suspicious, since he then pushed open the door and walked into the women's showering area.

 _What the fuck?_ you thought. _What can he possibly be doing in the women's shower room that's so top secret?_

You decided to wait a few minutes and see if he was going to come back out, thinking this was just a pit stop before he went to his actual destination. After about 10 minutes, you realized that it was quite possible you were missing something important by hiding out here in the hall.

Standing up, you considered the items on the cart. Deciding it was better to be safe and look foolish than to be sorry, you grabbed the mop that was sticking out of a bucket, holding it over your shoulder as you walked down the hall towards the showering area. A little grin quirked your lips at the thought that this was a pathetic makeshift replica of Lucille. Perhaps you should give the mop a name for good measure. You barely stifled a giggle as you decided to call the mop Ricardo in a tribute to one of the only black-and-white shows you had enjoyed pre-apocalypse: _I Love Lucy_.

Reaching the door to the shower room, you took a deep breath before nudging it open with your shoulder. You didn't see Dwight in the locker area inside the door, but the rest of the lockers and the shower stalls were around the corner. Gripping Ricardo tightly with both hands, you crept inside the large room, hoping that this wouldn't turn out to be a huge mistake. Images of Dwight finding out you were following him and promptly disemboweling you were NOT helpful at the moment. Neither were thoughts of what Negan would do to Dwight if he came back from his run and found you hurt or deceased…

A small moan suddenly sounded from around the corner, in the vicinity of the shower stalls. Thinking that either A) Dwight had hurt himself or B) he was hurting someone else, you rounded the corner with no hesitation.

And promptly almost dropped Ricardo in shock.

Dwight's back was to you, and it was bare, as was the rest of him. It took your brain a moment to realize that you were indeed staring at a naked Dwight.

A naked Dwight who was fucking an also-naked female up against the row of lockers on the other side of the room. At first you thought perhaps it was nonconsensual, and you raised Ricardo in the ready position, about to run across the tiles and beat Dwight to death for daring to assault someone like this. However, you then heard a whimper followed by another moan, and realized that it was coming from the woman in front of him.

She also had her back to you, as they were doing it in a standing doggie-style position. She was shorter and smaller than Dwight, so you couldn't at first tell who she was. You saw long hair in what looked to be a pony tail trail over Dwight's left arm as the woman threw her head back and uttered a breathy, "Yes, Dwight, right there." The voice sounded familiar, but from where…

Shock hit you like a wall of ice. Your eyes widened and you almost dropped Ricardo as the pieces finally fell into place. The ponytail, the high-pitched voice, the short and small stature.

Dwight wasn't just fucking any woman late at night in the showering area.

He was fucking Trixie.


	21. An Enlightening Conversation

You were completely unsure what to think about your finding with Operation Dwight. After realizing that he was with Trixie, you had quickly scrambled out of the shower room before either of them could notice that they weren't alone. Your brain seemed to black out during the entire trip back across the compound; when you finally came back to your senses, you were standing in shock in the middle of your bedroom with Ricardo still clenched tightly in your hand.

There were so many thoughts racing around your head as you set Ricardo up against the wall, kicked off your shoes and socks, and climbed into bed. Why was Trixie sleeping with Dwight? Wasn't she trying to get in Negan's pants instead? Did she actually _like_ Dwight or was this some sort of attempt to gain more power in the compound? And most importantly, _how old was Trixie?_

She appeared to be above 18, but you weren't totally certain. Even though you knew some rules were a little more grey and fuzzy since the apocalypse, you still hoped that Trixie was a legal adult, because that was one moralistic rule that you weren't willing to budge on.

Then another thought hit you. _What the fuck were you gonna tell Negan?!_

Should you tell him the truth about Dwight and Trixie? Would he be pissed? Or perhaps he would be relieved that Dwight wasn't staging a coup and was instead sneaking around just for sex.

After hours of tossing from side to side and causing the grey sheet to twist around your legs so tight that movement was almost impossible, you finally gave up trying to sleep. Sighing, you kicked off the sheet and put shoes back on. You planned to go outside for a walk around the compound in hopes that some fresh air would relax your thoughts. A glance at the clock in the hallway showed it was almost 3am, which meant that no one should be stirring for at least another two hours. There were sure to be a couple men outside on duty watching the perimeter, but you knew that they wouldn't bother you so long as you stayed within the fences. Belatedly, you wondered if Dwight was supposed to be one of the men currently patrolling, or if he had waited until after his shift was over to sneak off with Trixie.

Stepping outside, you sighed in relief as the cool air brushed your face. There were no manmade lights so as not to draw walkers or other potential enemies, but thankfully it was a cloudless night. The moon and stars created just enough of a glow for you to make out where you were going. Instead of being eerie, the sharp edges and dark shadows of the compound appeared comforting, as if you were in a bubble where time was suspended. The chirping and buzzing from bugs in the woods outside the fence created a soothing background noise as you walked across the asphalt towards the picnic table that you assumed would be empty at this time of night.

Of course, luck wasn't to be on your side. As you drew near to the picnic table mostly shrouded in shadow, you realized too late that someone was already sitting at it. About to turn right back around and walk away, you heard a familiar voice call your name in greeting.

"Maria?" you asked, finally walking close enough to recognize the woman sitting at the table. While part of you was beyond surprised to see her sitting out here in the middle of the night, another part of you thought, _oh, of course. This would be my luck._

Deciding it would be rude to leave, you walked up and sat down at the table across from her. _Perhaps this is karma's way of not letting you avoid a conversation with her any longer._

You had to admit, if karma was trying to distract you from Dwight and Trixie, it had picked a fantastic way to do so.

Maria's face was mostly shrouded in shadow, although her eyes twinkled even in the dim moonlight. Perhaps this was actually a good setting for a conversation since your own face was probably mostly in shadows as well. _Lying and not giving away any unwanted nonverbals will be so much easier in this lighting._

Unsure where to start the conversation, you went with stating the obvious.

"You're sure out late," you observed.

"Amber was being her usual Amber self earlier, so I decided to come out here and think. I actually come out here often when I can't sleep. It's peaceful."

You had to agree with Maria about the spot being peaceful since you had shared the same idea of coming out here to think.

"She really puts you through the ringer, doesn't she?" you asked.

Amber was Negan's fourth wife. She looked to be in her early to mid-20s with pixie-short blonde hair, big blue eyes, and a tendency to be a bit of a bully. Apparently Amber wasn't too happy when Maria joined them as wife number five, since it meant she was no longer the "newest" wife, and therefore got a little less attention than before. Ironic, since you heard she had been caught fucking her pre-apocalypse boyfriend, Mark, a few months ago, which resulted in half of Mark's face looking just like Dwight's: disfigured and burnt to a crisp from a hot iron.

You really didn't understand why both Sherry and Amber would go against Negan's rules, and then on top of that allow their exes to take a hot iron to the face while they skipped away unscathed. At least Sherry had the decency to be polite in passing; from what you had seen of Amber, she was a bit of a brat. Almost like an older, slightly more mature, slightly less hair-twirling Trixie. That coupled with the fact that you had always liked Maria meant that you weren't Amber's biggest fan.

You and Maria hadn't been super close when part of your previous group, but you had formed a closer bond out in the woods when walkers had dwindled your number down to just you, Maria, and one other group member named Tim. Unfortunately, a week after arriving at the compound, Tim was bitten by a walker during his first supply run with Negan's men. You had honestly never liked him much; he had been way too quick to make innuendos and "accidentally" brush his hand over your ass or tit whenever possible. Not that that meant he deserved to die, but still; you weren't exactly mourning him.

Maria had been a soothing ally during that time out in the forest. More than once she had calmed you down when you wanted nothing more than to punch Tim in the nose for his sexual comments. You and Maria had looked out for one another and made sure not to leave the other alone with Tim. Since arriving at the compound, you didn't see Maria too often, but still tried to hang out and catch up with her about once a week. You had definitely been avoiding her in the four days since running into her in Negan's doorway, which was unfair since Maria had always been nothing but kind.

She was one of the calmest and most laid-back individuals you had ever met, to the point where sometimes she came off, in your opinion, as a bit submissive. However, you couldn't deny that part of you looked up to her in a way and admired her ability to stay poised in most situations. She had never let Tim or anyone else get the best of her, and even when confronted by Amber, you were certain she was the first one to apologize or leave the conflict without allowing herself to become angry or upset. Perhaps you should start coming outside at night more often. If this was what helped keep Maria so relaxed, it might be worth a shot. And the fact that she _had_ appeared shocked and not so calm and collected when seeing you at Negan's door told you that a conversation about it was inevitable.

"She tries, but it's not worth the effort to argue or let her know that her comments get to me. It's easier to just ignore her and walk away," Maria assured.

Almost forgetting that you had been talking about Amber, there was a long pause before you answered, "Still, don't let her bully you. Maybe if you decked her once, she'd lay off."

You could just make out the curve of a smile on Maria's face at your comment.

"While the mental image of that is lovely, I doubt Negan would appreciate any inter-wife violence."

You immediately tensed at the mention of Negan. His name hung heavy in the air, as if Maria had thrown it out there as live bait and was waiting to see if you would take the bait or make it wiggle around like a worm on a hook first.

Deciding that you weren't going to rush into a discussion of Negan easily, you let the bait wiggle.

"Yea, but damn it would be worth the look on his face when he heard that you, of all people, popped Amber in the nose."

Maria gave a small chuckle, making you think that perhaps she had let the bait fall off the hook.

No such luck.

"So, speaking of Negan, are you going to tell me what you were doing bringing books to Negan's room unannounced? And don't give me any of that 'I don't know what you're talking about because I hate him with every fiber of my being' crap."

While these words coming from anyone else would've sounded harsh and caused you to raise your hackles, Maria said them matter-of-factly and without any malice. Trixie could stand to take a few pages out of Maria's book on the art of confronting you about Negan.

Sighing, you stared down at the table, which appeared as a black mass in the dark. Blindly drawing designs on the rough wood with your finger, you mulled over how much to tell Maria.

"He, uh…he let me borrow a book. So I was returning it." _Completely true, if vague._

"How did he let you borrow a book? I thought you told me that you never went into his office?"

Maria said this casually, but you couldn't help but feel as though she was completing her own form of chess game, using your words from before to maneuver you firmly into a mental checkmate. Maria might be calm and submissive, but only a fool would underestimate her sharp intelligence.

Unable to come up with any type of response, be it an honest one or a believable lie, you instead opted to stay silent. Lack of sleep and the late hour was throwing you off your game. _Or perhaps you're just tired of hiding this from everyone._

Instead of hammering you into admitting you had lied to her, Maria smoothly moved on to another question.

"So he just offered to let you borrow one of his books out of the blue? Or did you ask for one?"

The thought entered your head that you could always lie and say that you had offered Negan a substantial amount of points in return for borrowing a book, but instead your lips formed the reply, "He offered."

You didn't need to be able to clearly see Maria's face to imagine the look of surprise at your answer.

"Did he offer you anything else besides a book?" she asked.

Whether or not she had meant the comment as an innuendo, you still felt your cheeks heat, making you even more thankful for the shadows.

You hesitated, feeling as though you were on a precipice. Once again you tried to blame your lack of emotional armor on the late hour, but the truth was you felt beyond overwhelmed. Between finding out about Dwight and Trixie, the fact that Trixie was suspicious of you and Negan, and the whole shebang that was "you and Negan," you wanted nothing more than to unload some of it onto another person. To actually tell someone what was happening, before you spontaneously combusted from trying to hold everything inside and deal with it alone.

Giving a mental 'fuck it,' you started to tell Maria about your interactions with Negan. What you gave her were the bare bones of the story, but you still felt some relief from the emotional pressure, as if letting air out of a balloon that was about to explode.

You told her about your jaunts in the forest, courtesy of Dwight, as well as how Negan had found you three weeks ago and saved you from a walker (which was all true). Completely skipping over the kiss in his office, you instead stated that he demanded you bring him dinner trays as punishment. You told her that you noticed his plethora of books, and had asked to read one while he ate, which had then resulted in him telling you to just take it with you (which was also true). Skipping over the fact that you had been in his private quarters more than just that one time, you jumped to the part where Trixie had accosted you in the shower with accusations about you and Negan. You then told her about how Negan had asked you to follow Dwight. If Maria was shocked at Negan giving you such a big responsibility, she hid it well, not making a peep as you told her all of this.

When you got to the part where you found Dwight and Trixie in the showering area, she finally let out a tiny gasp. Glad to be able to share this information with someone, you asked, "What do you make of her and Dwight?"

Maria was silent for a few long moments, as if processing all the information you had given her.

"I think that you should talk to Trixie."

"What?" you blurted. That option hadn't even entered your head.

"I mean," Maria continued. "Speculating won't get you any answers, so why not just ask her about it?"

Barking out a laugh, you replied, "Right, because I'm sure she wants to talk to me after our lovely little conversation in the shower room the other day."

You could practically feel the lecture behind Maria's words when she said, "Well, Trixie at least has the right idea as far as going to the source and asking what's going on rather than just assuming. Granted, you would be way more mature about a confrontation, but I think she might surprise you. I'd think you of all people would know how difficult and draining it can be to keep a secret relationship around here."

Trying unsuccessfully to scrutinize Maria's expression in the dark, you knew in that moment that while you had left out large chunks of your interactions with Negan, she wasn't fooled one bit.

"Look, you might be right about Trixie, and I'll consider what you said about talking to her, but don't for one second think that my situation is the same as hers. I don't have any sort of "relationship" with Negan, and I sure as hell am not fucking him up against a row of lockers. You're comparing apples to oranges."

"Did he ask you to be his wife since all this started?"

"No!" you asserted, which was technically true. He might have all but said that sleeping with him would make you his wife, and that he did want to sleep with you, but he didn't straight out ask you to be his wife.

"I take it you're still opposed to the idea?" Maria asked gently.

"Hell yes, I'm opposed to it!" you blurted, trying and failing to stay calm and non-defensive. "First off, I don't judge you for being one of his wives, but I myself refuse to be a part of that arrangement. I love my work in the kitchen and am happy making ends meet on my own. Secondly, I'm not sleeping with Negan, nor do I ever plan on it. That big ol' king-sized bed is all yours; I'll stick to my cozy little twin."

Maria appeared to freeze at your last comment, but you figured it was probably just your imagination.

"His king-sized bed?" she asked carefully.

"Yea," you scoffed. "I understand that he's head of the compound and all, but he has so much unnecessary and expensive-looking furniture. I mean, a chandelier? Come on!"

Waiting for Maria to at least join in on the joke enough to admit that Negan's tastes were indeed a bit pretentious, instead you received nothing but utter silence.

"I didn't know that Negan had a chandelier," she finally said.

"What? What do you mean, you don't know? It's hanging right there in the middle of his bedroom between the bed and the fireplace."

"I've never been in Negan's bedroom. None of his wives have."

You felt as though you had been smacked in the face with a brick. All coherent thought left the building, or the picnic table, so to speak.

"But...but you're his _wives_! You all…" you gestured in front of yourself in the dark, realizing that Maria couldn't see it. "You all _have sex with him!_ "

"Yes, but never in his bedroom. Negan has a strict rule that he's the only one allowed in his bedroom. We can enter his office, and while I've never had sex with him in there, I believe Amber was able to coax him into doing so a few times. Typically he visits our parlor where we all hang out together, then takes whichever wife into her own room when he wants sex. That way he can leave and go back to his room when he's done, since he never stays with us or spends the night."

It really wasn't fair that you had been given about a full minute of relief from disclosing information about Negan to Maria, only to then have more information get thrown back and knock you off your ass even harder than before. You had assumed that Negan fucked all of his wives in his bedroom, more specifically in his bed. That's what any normal person would assume, right?!

While your brain was practically short circuiting in an attempt to process this new information, your subconscious was having a field day, metaphorically jumping up and down and clapping excitedly. _But he doesn't fuck them in his bedroom! He doesn't even let them in there, and yet he let you in there not once, but twice! What if he was willing to break another one of his rules for you? What if he was willing to fuck you in his bed?! You could be the one to pop his bedroom-sex cherry!_

"I…I honestly don't know what to say, Maria. All I did was take him a dinner tray and borrow a book. Maybe the rules are different when it's a kitchen staff member or if it's for a non-intimate reason."

Unable to handle either your subconscious or the conversation with Maria any longer, you stood up abruptly from the table before she could respond.

"I'm glad we got to talk, and thank you for listening to me and giving me some advice about Trixie, but I think I should go back to my room and try to get some sleep before starting the day tomorrow…well, today."

You started to leave the table, but then stopped and turned around to address Maria again.

She must've known exactly what you were about to say, because she stated, "Don't worry, I won't tell Sherry or the other wives about anything we've discussed."

"Thank you, Maria."

"No problem. Just…be careful," she said softly.

You nodded in reply, despite the fact that she might not be able to see it. Walking back across the asphalt, you opened the front door to the compound and stepped inside, leaving Maria outside with the moonlight. The undeniable thought hit that any confidence in your perception of Negan had also been left outside with the shadows.


	22. Greetings & Goodbyes

It would be nice to say you got a decent amount of sleep, but that would be a lie.

After crawling back in bed, you had continued to toss and turn until well after sunrise. Now your thoughts were divided between the situation with Dwight and Trixie and the new information Maria had given you. The shock still hadn't worn off since Maria told you that none of Negan's wives had been in his bedroom. You had absolutely no clue what to do with this information and were completely confused, but for some reason it also made you feel equal parts nervous and excited to see Negan again. You drifted off for an hour or so in the late morning before forcing yourself to get up and shower, making the water as cold as was bearable in a feeble attempt to jolt your senses to awareness.

Throwing on jeans and a grey t-shirt, you headed down to the kitchen to start dinner. You were making the peanut butter stir fry again in response to multiple requests from compound members. Despite Negan's taunts, it turned out that plenty of individuals enjoyed your "weird ass sauces" and "sludge". Perhaps you would have to bring this to Negan's attention in the near future, just to see how he would respond to the teasing.

It was as you were opening cans of peas and chatting with Ben that Trixie entered the kitchen. You scrutinized every molecule of her from the top of her bouncy ponytail down to the toes of her green and white sneakers. She had on her usual outfit of a tight t-shirt and even tighter shorts and was her usual giggly, smiling self as she started carrying glasses and wrapped silverware out to the cafeteria to arrange the place settings. You watched her like a hawk, unsure what exactly it was that you were looking for, but still looking nonetheless. Perhaps you were hoping that she would give some indication as to why she was with Dwight last night or that she would act differently in some way, but she didn't do either of those things. She was her usual gratingly bubbly self, and you weren't sure if that made you feel relieved or more on edge about the whole situation.

Something that you definitely couldn't stop thinking about was Trixie's age. Unsure how to broach the subject, you considered throwing out questions such as whether or not she had a driver's license pre-apocalypse or if she graduated high school, but decided it would look weird to bring up either topic since you didn't make small talk with Trixie…well….ever.

Instead you continued to watch her while dinner was being prepared, thinking that maybe if you stared at the back of her head hard enough, her age would pop out of her fluffy ponytail in big bubble numbers for all to see.

Unfortunately, this wasn't Harry Potter, and magic didn't exist outside of making dead corpses reanimate.

It was as dinner was being served that your thoughts were finally pulled away from Trixie via a group of dirty, haggard-looking men entering the kitchen. Your heartrate increased in excitement when you recognized them as the men who had gone on the supply run with Negan. _He's back!_ your subconscious squealed.

The men filtered into the cafeteria and sat down at a few tables quietly. They all looked like they were a light nudge away from toppling over, whether from exhaustion or something else you weren't sure. Grabbing a tray of bowls filled with the stir fry, you speed-walked out to their tables to serve them before Trixie or someone else could beat you to the punch.

"Welcome back!" you said cheerfully while setting bowls down in front of the men.

A chorus of mumbles was your only response, which caused your smile to slip slightly. Usually the men were more animated when coming back from a supply run, almost as if they were still high off the adrenaline. Had something bad happened on the run? _Did something happen to Negan?!_

Trying to affect a calm and uncaring attitude, you asked the group as a whole, "So, how did the run go?"

The men all became fixated on the bowls of stir fry in front of them, bowing their heads low and spooning food into their mouths as if to give an excuse as to why they couldn't respond. Only one middle-aged man, whom you believe was named Seth, looked up and made eye contact with you.

"We accomplished what we set out to do. Lost Ken in the process," he drawled before also turning his attention to the food.

You felt a bolt of sadness go through you at the news. Ken had only been at the compound for a few weeks, and was incredibly sweet. He had been young, so young that you would be surprised if he had been any older than Trixie. He had appeared quiet and shy and had been nothing but respectful, always profusely thanking you each time he was served dinner or a water refill. Tears made your vision start to blur at the thought of such a sweet individual not being here anymore.

Unable to keep yourself from asking one more question, you whispered, "Was it Rick?"

Seth looked back up at you, appearing slightly surprised by the question. Perhaps he didn't expect you to know that the run was focused on maintaining control over Rick, or perhaps he was just surprised that you were still standing there asking questions. It was hard to care when it took most of your control to keep tears at bay.

"No, it was walkers," Seth replied, maintaining eye contact as if waiting to see if you were done questioning him.

Nodding, you turned without another word and walked back into the kitchen. Your emotions must have been written all over your face, because Ben immediately rushed over to ask what was wrong. A tear finally slipped past the barrier of your lashes and trailed down over one cheek as you told him what had happened to Ken. Ben's face scrunched up as if in pain, and before you could comprehend what he was about to do, he pulled you in for a tight bear hug.

It wasn't just grief over the loss of Ken that caused you and Ben to stand there and clutch each other for a few long seconds before pulling away. It was the unspoken knowledge that no one was safe in this world; that people who you saw every day could be taken away in the blink of an eye. That no one was guaranteed tomorrow, but that you _were_ guaranteed this moment and should take the time to hug one another in affirmation that you were still here and not alone.

After wiping your tears on a paper towel, you tried to refocus on finishing dinner. All of the diners had been served, and Trixie and another staff member had started bringing dirty dishes back into the kitchen.

Your movements felt robotic as you packed up the small amount of leftovers. Hesitating, you realized that Negan hadn't come to the cafeteria or asked for a tray. While you weren't hungry after the emotional news about Ken, you could still pretend to take some food for yourself and give it to Negan instead. Grabbing a smaller plastic container, you filled it with rice and vegetables before pouring some of the sauce over top. No one made a comment when you took the container and announced you were leaving. Ben gave you a small, reassuring smile, which you returned with one of your own.

Walking down the halls towards Negan's room, you wondered if he was affected by the loss of Ken, or if he just saw it as the price one had to pay in such a world. Either way, if he tried to make some sarcastic joke about it, you were totally flinging the food in his face, consequences be damned.

Passing by a few closed doors, you wondered which one of them led to the parlor Maria had mentioned. Were Negan's wives aware of what had happened to Ken? Somehow you doubted that Negan discussed any supply run details with them, or that he would really discuss something like Ken's death with anyone, wife or otherwise.

While the news about Ken was currently the main topic on your mind, there was still underlying anxiety about everything that had happened in the last few days. Would Negan ask you about Dwight? _Most likely._ And what were you going to tell him? _The truth?_ And what about his bedroom? Should you ask why he had let you in there twice if it was supposedly a no-no zone? _Only an idiot would confront him about that at a time like this. You're too emotional right now and feeling vulnerable; don't bring that up unless you're actually prepared for him to give an honest answer._

Reaching his door, you lightly rapped on the wood with your knuckles and waited. After a few long seconds of silence, you lifted your fist and knocked again, this time a little bit louder.

The response was a grumbled, "Leave me the fuck alone," coming from the other side of the door.

Shocked, you stood there and contemplated what the hell to do. Did he suspect it was you out here? Or maybe he thought it was one of his wives, or even one of his men? The smart response would probably be to heed his command and go right back the way you came, but you wanted…no, _needed_ to see him. Like with Ben, you needed to reaffirm that Negan was alive and in one piece, although you doubted he would appreciate a hug. You almost smiled at the thought of Negan's reaction if he opened the door and found himself embraced in a bear hug. Puffing out a breath and deciding that you wouldn't feel at ease until you at least saw that he was okay, even if he was in a pissed-off mood, you raised your hand a third time and practically pounded on the wood.

Something slammed loudly behind the door, possibly a chair. Tensing, you wondered if perhaps this was a mistake after all. But it was too late now, since the door flew open and Negan stood glowering in the doorway like a disgruntled bear that had been rudely awoken from hibernation. While his expression didn't change when he saw who it was, he also didn't yell or swear like you had been expecting. Instead he stood there staring down at you almost as if uncertain how to respond.

He had removed the scarf from around his neck, as well as the leather gloves, but was otherwise fully dressed. The leather jacket was half unzipped, and without the scarf, his white t-shirt was visible underneath. This one had a low V-neck that allowed for just a peek of…oh boy. _So he does have chest hair after all._

Realizing that you were staring, you jerked your gaze back up to his face, but thankfully he didn't seem to notice since he was staring off into space over your left shoulder.

Clearing your throat, you lifted up the container of food and stated, "Welcome back. Would you like some company?"

His gaze slid back to you, eyes dropping down to the container of food before lifting to lock onto your own. He lifted a hand and ran long fingers through his hair before stopping to rest his palm on the back of his neck while regarding you silently. Was it possible to be turned on right now? Because you totally were. _I swear to God if you even blush right now. You're supposed to be a confident, sexy woman, not a blushing little girl, god damnit!_

Finally appearing to make up his mind, Negan dropped the hand from his neck with a sigh and said, "I have to be honest, doll. I'm not the best fucking company right now."

Negan was upset about Ken.

You weren't sure how you knew; you just did. Other people might think he was tired from the supply run, or being his usual grumpy self, but to you it was obvious. He wasn't just tired or grumpy; he was upset.

Looking back at him, your voice was slightly raspy as you whispered, "I don't care. Any company is better than no company."

His expression didn't change as he continued to hold your gaze and process this response. Almost expecting him to refuse you in favor of wallowing in his emotions by himself, instead Negan took a step back to make room in the doorway.

"Your choice, doll. Can't say I didn't fucking warn you."

Stepping past him and into the office, you walked over to the desk and set the container of food down on the dark wood. Surprise hit as you saw that there was already food sitting on the desk. Well, not food so much as a beverage. An opened bottle of Jameson sat on the desk beside a half-full tumbler glass.

You turned back to Negan and accused, "You're drinking?"

Closing the door, Negan walked over and picked up the tumbler glass.

"Fucking looks that way, doesn't it?"

Perplexed, you asked, "Are you drunk?"

Huffing a laugh, Negan knocked back the caramel liquid in the glass before responding, "Not yet, doll. But I'm about to be well on my way. Care to join me?"


	23. Jameson

To say you were surprised to find Negan drinking was an understatement. He always seemed so calculated and in control of his emotions that the thought of him giving up some of that control to the effects of alcohol was hard to imagine.

Watching as he set the now-empty shot glass back on the desk, you couldn't help but ask, "Where did you find whiskey?"

Last time you checked, there wasn't any alcohol in the commissary, nor had you ever heard anyone mention about it being located in any of the storage units.

"Found it when we were raiding the infirmary. Fuckers were wasting some perfectly good-quality whiskey on fucking wounded patients."

You weren't thrilled to hear that he had taken supplies which could potentially help those who were injured, but decided now wasn't the time to debate the ethics of stealing. Instead, you carefully broached the topic that was on both of your minds.

"I heard that the supply run was a success…but that you lost Ken."

Negan avoided eye contact as he picked up the bottle of Jameson and poured until the small tumbler was half-full again.

"Yep," he said emotionlessly, still ignoring you in favor of taking a sip of the Jameson.

Whelp, so much for trying to get him to talk. It was obvious that he was completely blocking you out and wasn't willing to discuss the supply run at the moment. Instead he walked around to the other side of the desk, opening a drawer and pulling out a second tumbler. He filled this glass half-way with the whiskey before topping off his own. Your eyes widened when he pushed the second glass across the wood towards you.

"I, uh…I don't know if I should have any of that."

The thought of drinking whiskey on an empty stomach didn't seem like the smartest idea. Not to mention the fact that you hadn't drank any alcohol since before the apocalypse, which meant that your tolerance was probably nonexistent. And getting drunk with Negan? Well, that didn't sound like an intelligent decision at ALL.

Raising a mocking eyebrow, Negan replied, "Whatsa matter, doll? Afraid you might get tipsy after one fucking shot and try to take advantage of me?"

Pursing your lips at his verbal challenge, you reached out and picked up the glass before your brain even fully comprehended that you were about to do so. Negan grinned and picked up his own glass, holding it out in front of him.

"To a successful supply run," you toasted before clinking your glass with his and throwing back the dark liquid.

The taste was smooth and had just a hint of spice that was more pleasant than you were expecting. However, as soon as you swallowed, it turned into liquid fire burning down your throat, which caused you to cough as tears filled your eyes.

Negan gave a cheeky grin and drawled, "Too strong for you, doll?"

After the initial burn, the liquid started to warm your stomach, as if you were sitting in front of a toasty fireplace. Perhaps the whiskey was already affecting your senses, since your response was to slide the glass back across the desk towards Negan and say, "Gimme another."

His eyes widened in surprise before his lips curved upwards and parted to show off his pearly whites.

"That's the spirit, doll," he encouraged, picking up the Jameson and filling both shot glasses half-way again before sliding the glass back to you.

Knowing that this was completely stupid, you still picked up the glass and decided "what the fuck." You were upset about Ken, not to mention all the other crap that had happened during the few days Negan had been gone. Something to dull the senses sounded like a welcome reprieve, even if you would probably regret it come morning.

Holding out the glass, you looked at Negan and declared, "Your turn to make a toast."

Instead of immediately answering, Negan picked up his glass and walked out from behind the desk, not stopping until he was standing directly in front of you. Looking up and meeting his tawny gaze, you felt a jolt of awareness run through your body at his close proximity. Eyes dropping, you once again found yourself mesmerized by the curls of dark chest hair that were peeking up over the edge of his white t-shirt. You couldn't help but wonder if the tan skin of his throat tasted as sweet and spicy as the Jameson.

His deep voice sounded even rougher than usual, either from the alcohol or something else, as he toasted, "To you, doll."

Shocked, you lifted an eyebrow in question while clinking your glass with his before tossing back the liquid. The second shot didn't burn any less than the first, but at least you were prepared this time and therefore able to refrain from coughing or tearing up.

Only a couple minutes later and you were already feeling the effects of the liquor on your system. Stomach slightly burning and limbs loose and relaxed, you walked over to Negan's bookshelf and ran your fingers over the bindings of a row of hardbacks. Noticing the chess board still propped on the floor against the bookcase, you turned to Negan and cheekily taunted, "I bet I could doubly kick your ass at chess now that I've had a few shots to loosen me up."

Chuckling in response, Negan shook his head slightly and replied, "I can't fucking believe it. You're already drunk."

"Am not!" you retorted like a petulant child. Truth was, you really weren't drunk, but you were definitely tipsy. Tipsy enough that your brain wasn't working as fast as it should and your thoughts were verbalized before your brain had a proper chance to filter them, as shown by you putting a hand on your hip and declaring, "And if I _am_ drunk, it's all your fault anyways."

Putting a hand on his chest as if mortally wounded, Negan mock gasped and taunted, "My fault? How you fucking figure that, doll?"

The part of your brain that was still functioning properly was yelling at you to shut up, but your subconscious was rubbing its hands together excitedly and enjoying the show.

"Well, you're the one who gave me whiskey, duh," you said with a roll of your eyes. "And you're the one who made me follow Dwight and find out his secret, which by the way was _not_ as much fun as I was anticipating. Anyone would need a drink or two after what I had to witness."

Negan had poured himself another glass of Jameson and was mid-sip when you mentioned Dwight. Slightly choking on the alcohol, he exclaimed, "You found out what he was up to?!"

When all you did was nod in response, he said, "Well? What was it?"

Sighing dramatically and giving a little hiccup, you walked back over to the desk and announced, "I need another drink before I tell you."

Reaching for the bottle of Jameson, you gave an annoyed, "Hey!" when Negan grabbed it first and held it out of reach.

"Doll, if you have another shot, you're going to be well and truly hammered," he stated while hypocritically taking another sip out of his own glass.

Lifting your hands up in exasperation, you replied, "Oh good god, Negan. You're not my daddy, so give me another damn drink."

The wicked smile that crossed his lips at your words escaped your notice since you were too preoccupied with him pouring another drink, which he did reluctantly before passing the glass back to you.

"Just fucking remember, doll. When you wake up tomorrow and feel like shit, this was your own decision."

Rolling your eyes, you lifted the glass and took a small sip. While your senses might not be at 100% right now, you were at least smart enough not to shoot the whiskey this time, instead deciding to savor it slowly.

Negan watched you like a hawk, waiting impatiently for you to finish the sip before saying, "Well, doll, you gonna fucking enlighten me about Dwight or not?"

The bad (or good depending how you looked at it) thing about being really tipsy was that the suggestions your subconscious gave actually sounded like good ideas. Case in point was when you replied with, "I'll tell you, but only if you promise to answer one of my questions afterwards?"

Tilting his head in curiosity, Negan smirked and said, "Sounds like a fucking fair trade to me."

Taking another small sip of Jameson for more liquid courage, you started, "Well, I kinda found Dwight in the women's showering room…and he wasn't alone."

His attention effectively captured, Negan nodded silently in encouragement for you to continue.

"He was uh…well…he was fucking someone. A woman." Here you faltered, all of a sudden unsure if it was smart to tell Negan who Dwight had been with. If Trixie was underage, and Negan found out, you would bet all of your points that he would be furious. Negan might not be devoid of sin, but he sure as hell seemed to have a no-tolerance policy when it came to any type of sexual assault or sexual coercion, so it wouldn't be a big leap to assume sex with a minor was also something he wouldn't condone or allow.

Your inner debate was cut short when Negan slammed a fist down on the dark wood of the table, causing the bottle of whiskey to rattle and you to jump.

"I should've mother fucking _known_ ," he growled menacingly. "You'd think they would've learned the first fucking time, but apparently he wants the right side of his face to match the left."

Due to the alcohol haze, it took you longer than it would normally to figure out why Negan was so incredibly pissed. At first you thought maybe Trixie was underage after all, but then you realized that no way could he know that she had been the one with Dwight. Then it clicked.

"It wasn't Sherry!" you blurted, realizing that your assumption was correct when he appeared to relax slightly at your words, although he still looked pissed.

"Well then who the fuck was it?"

Looking down at the glass in your hand, you mumbled, "Trixie."

Utter silence was the response, which caused you to look up. Negan was staring at you as if in disbelief. It was almost if he was waiting for you to laugh and say it was a joke, but when your expression showcased only seriousness, he responded in a completely unexpected way.

He threw his head back and laughed.

Mouth dropping open in shock, you watched as he guffawed loudly, putting a hand on his stomach and bending forward slightly from the force of his laughter. It was most likely the effects of the alcohol, but you couldn't help but giggle along, relieved that he didn't appear in the least bit mad anymore.

"Oh sweet Christ, doll. That's fucking rich! Trixie!" he chortled. "Way to go D-man. I didn't fucking think he had it in him to get the fucking attention of such a young piece of tail."

His statement about her being young made you stop giggling and ask, "So, do you know how old Trixie is?"

Nodding, Negan replied, "She's 19. Young as hell, but technically old enough to decide for herself if she wants to spread her fucking legs for a man who looks like a fucking waffle iron."

Relieved that Trixie was indeed a legal adult, you felt as if a burden had been lifted from your shoulders. Sure, there was still the whole question of why she was sleeping with Dwight, but at least she was old enough to do so.

Walking over to the black leather couch against the wall, you sat down with a sigh and a small grin. Here you had been worried about what to tell Negan, when he had handled the truth way better than expected.

Leaning back against the front of the desk, Negan swirled the caramel liquid around in his glass while looking at you across the room. "Okay, doll. Your turn."

Realizing that he meant it was your turn to ask a question, you physically froze while contemplating which question to ask him. _Ask him about his bedroom!_ your subconscious yelled, while your brain tried to convince you that a safer question would be to ask him when you could go on your first jaunt outside the compound. Going back and forth, you finally decided to ignore both brain and subconscious and go with a question that was more important to your heart, even if it meant ruining the currently happy moment.

Watching his face closely, you asked, "What happened with Ken?"

Negan stared back at you unblinking, his body almost unnaturally still. It was obvious, even to your Jameson-dulled awareness, that he was calculating how to answer. Perhaps he was currently having the same brain versus subconscious battle that you were having just a few seconds ago.

Sighing, he grabbed his glass of whiskey, which was newly refilled, and walked across the room towards you. Scooting over to make space on the leather loveseat, you watched him sit down on the cushion to your right, his thigh only a couple inches from your own. His body was so close that you could smell the heady combination of his musk mixed with leather and whiskey.

It was strange to sit like this with him, as if you were just any other regular couple unwinding on the couch together and sharing how their days had went. Except in this case a day's work had consisted of him watching one of his employees get murdered by animated corpses.

"Ken was a good kid," Negan said quietly before taking a sip of whiskey.

Wanting to ask what had happened, you instead sat silently and waited, willing to let him talk at his own pace.

"We had just left Alexandria and given Rick the Prick a good fucking scare. He hadn't even fucking seen us coming, and I think we made him shit his pants enough that he won't be fucking retaliating any fucking time soon."

While you were intently watching Negan, he was staring straight ahead at the empty wall across the room, as if the scene were replaying in front of him like a bad movie.

"We were piling back into the truck when two fucking walkers came up behind us. Ken was in the back, but he must not have been watching behind him, thinking that we were safe. They both grabbed ahold of him and…"

Here Negan paused, taking a sip of Jameson and releasing a deep sigh before continuing. "By the time the rest of us realized what had happened, it was too late. One had fucking bit his shoulder and the other got him on the arm. Seth was closest and beheaded the fuckers as soon as he heard Ken yell."

Sitting in frozen horror, you were completely incapable of any response, but thankfully Negan didn't seem to notice. In fact, he was still staring across the room, and you weren't even sure he was still aware of your presence as he resumed speaking.

"We knew it was too fucking late. The shoulder bite was too fucking close to his neck, so we couldn't even try cutting off his arm before it spread. The kid fucking knew it too. He looked at me and knew that he was fucking done for. He pulled out his gun; fucking brave little shit was willing to shoot himself to save us the trouble. But his fucking hand was shaking so fucking much…"

Negan's voice drifted off, and he took a deep breath before continuing in a voice that was whisper-low and so raw that you were unable to even breathe for fear that your heart would explode.

"So I did it. I told the rest of the men to get in the fucking truck and wait while I walked with Ken further into the woods. He was so fucking quiet the whole time. Didn't even fucking flinch when I took the gun from him. He only said two words to me. Just two fucking words before I pulled the trigger…'thank you'. The little fucking asshole looked at me and he fucking _thanked me_."

Finally tearing his gaze away from the wall, Negan turned and looked at you. Pain and misery had etched deep frown lines around his mouth, and the look of complete and utter despair that filled his eyes was almost more than you could take. In fact, you hadn't even realized until now that you were silently crying, tears forming tracks down both your cheeks. While some of the tears were for Ken, the majority of them were for Negan and what he had been willing to do. How he had taken the burden of pulling the trigger off of Ken and placed it on himself. He could've told one of the other men to do it, or could've just left Ken behind to make the decision on his own. But instead he had stepped up, not just as a leader carrying out a mission, but as a comrade who had stayed with Ken until the end rather than abandoning him.

Reaching out, Negan cupped the side of your face and ran his thumb across your cheek, wiping away a fresh tear that had started to fall down over your skin. He traced his thumb back and forth across your cheek while forcing a slight smile, as if to reassure you that tears weren't needed.

God damn him. _He_ was the one who had gone through this horrible experience just a few hours ago, and yet _he_ was the one trying to comfort _you_. And to think that you had previously accused him of an inability to be selfless or nice. You felt shame burn along with the whiskey in your stomach at the thought.

Knowing that the alcohol was probably partially to blame, it was also the need to comfort Negan that caused you to turn towards him. Curling your leg up on the couch so that the side of your knee was pressed into the leather, you braced your right arm against the back of the couch and gave him your full attention.

Holding his tawny gaze, you softly said, "It wasn't your fault."

He broke eye contact and dropped his hand from your face, looking across the room again as if to try and shut you out.

"I was in charge of the fucking run. It should've been my job to stand at the back of the group and keep watch while they packed the van."

A slight wave of nausea hit at the thought of Negan switching places with Ken. How would you have reacted if the men had told you it was Negan who had been bit out in the woods? You couldn't even process such a thing, because the thought of losing him was too painful to contemplate.

Reaching forward, you took the glass of whiskey out of Negan's hand before leaning sideways so that you could set both it and your own glass down onto the floor in front of the couch. He had let you take the glass, but gave a look of confusion when you straightened back up again.

'Sober you' would have bolted from the couch at this point, terrified at how raw and emotional this conversation had become. However, with Jameson providing some liquid courage, you reached out and laid your hand against the side of his face, the feel of his beard slightly rough on your sensitive palm.

Leaning forward slowly until your faces were only a few inches apart, you made sure his gaze was once again locked with yours before firmly stating, "What happened to Ken was an accident, nothing more. You brought everyone else back safe and you always do your best to make sure that the rest of us are safe, too. No one is blaming you for what happened out there; hell, even Ken knew it wasn't anyone's fault. The fact that you willingly stayed with him, and then placed the responsibility of pulling the trigger on yourself instead of him, shows everyone what a good man you are. Shows _me_ what a good man you are."

Negan didn't break eye contact this time; instead he gave a look of astonishment at your words. It was as if no one had ever told him that it was okay to not be perfect. And you'd bet just about anything that no one had ever called him a good man since the apocalypse began. Shit, _you_ probably wouldn't have called him a good man up until this very moment. He always gave off such an uncaring attitude that no one would know underneath that façade was a man who blamed himself when something went wrong, and saw it as his own shame to bear if a man was lost or left behind.

Tomorrow you might say that it was purely the alcohol that fueled your next move, but right now it was hard to care when all you wanted to do was reassure the man in front of you that he was worthy of being comforted and cared for, and that he wasn't alone.

Palm still cupping his bearded cheek, you leaned forward slowly, giving Negan a chance to move out of the way or stop you, but he didn't do either of those things. Instead, you swore he moved forward the tiniest amount as well, his warm lips meeting yours in a kiss that was completely different from the one that had occurred in this same room two weeks ago.

Whereas the first kiss had been one you initiated with the intent to challenge his dominating arrogance and throw him off his high horse, this second kiss was initiated with the intent to provide comfort and support. It was short and sweet, and you pulled back after only a few seconds to see his reaction to the fact that you had once again broke his no-kissing rule. Instead you got distracted by how god damn sexy he looked. The frown lines were gone from his face and the sadness had started to recede from his eyes, the bright amber darkening almost to an espresso color as he stared at you intently. Before he could say anything sarcastic to break the moment, you leaned forward again to place another quick kiss on his salt-and-pepper surrounded lips.

It should be no surprise that the third kiss you initiated would also be completely different from the others. Whereas the last kiss had been soothing and quick, as soon as your lips touched his this time it was as if fire erupted throughout your body and started a burning in your stomach that was way hotter than any amount of whiskey.

Negan reached forward and wrapped a large hand around your thigh, the heat of his palm filtering through the jeans. He tugged lightly, and you instinctually knew what he wanted. It wasn't the most graceful of moves, thanks to your awkward positioning and the fact that you were still a bit tipsy, but with his assistance you were able to come up on your knees and throw one leg over both of his so that you were effectively straddling his thighs.

Negan's hands grabbed your hips, bringing you down so that you were firmly seated in his lap, which caused you to let out a small gasp as the sensitive area between your thighs came into contact with what felt like a very impressive erection, even through two layers of denim. In response he thrust his tongue into your mouth, reminding you instantly why you had gotten so caught up in his kiss the first time. You had no clue why he had a no-kissing rule with his wives when he was such a fucking expert at it. Perhaps it was so that his wives wouldn't become utterly addicted and end up mauling each other for the chance to claim his lips with their own. It wouldn't even be an exaggeration to expect them to do so. Heck, even you were feeling a strong surge of possessiveness at the thought that you were the only one who had gotten to experience this act with him.

The lazy caress of his tongue in your mouth coupled with his hands pressing into your hips was enough to make your head spin. Or was that also the Jameson? At this point it was hard to tell.

Your hands had automatically landed on his shoulders when maneuvering into his lap, but you now allowed them to wander. Sliding your left hand down and to the right, you placed your palm against the top of his chest, his flesh hot and strong as you moved the hand downwards until your fingers were buried in the dark chest hair that had so mesmerized you earlier in the evening. Wrapping fingers through the soft curls, you gave a little tug. This elicited a groan from him that would've caused you to fall over from arousal if his hands weren't currently anchoring you in place.

Grabbing the zipper of his leather jacket with your right hand, you started to pull it down while continuing to kiss him deeply. You suddenly felt as though you both were wearing too many layers, and it was time to fix that little problem. However, a warm, strong hand left your hip and wrapped around your wrist to halt your downward movement at the same time that Negan pulled back from the kiss so that your lips were barely touching. You tried to lean forward and reclaim his lips, but his other hand tightened at your hip in warning.

"Negan, please."

Who was that breathless sounding vixen who had just begged Negan? Dear god, had those words really just come out of your own mouth?!

A smile curled the lips that were mere millimeters from your own. He was so close that his beard lightly brushed your chin, sending a slight shiver down your spine. His breath was warm and smelled of Jameson as he whispered against your lips, "Please what, doll?"

If his voice was designed for any other purpose than to seduce women, you had yet to find out what that purpose was. This was the worst form of torture, knowing that he was right _there_ and yet him not letting you close the minute distance.

You shifted on his lap, the friction against his erection causing both of you to gasp as you whispered back against his lips, "Please, Negan. I need…" You squirmed again, trying to convey nonverbally what it was that you wanted.

His voice sounding slightly strained and even deeper than usual, Negan purred, "As fucking magnificent as this current situation is, I'm gonna have to politely ask you to get off my dick, doll."

Jerking back in surprise, you put enough distance between your faces that his features came into focus, his pupils blown wide with desire and a grin on his red and kiss-swollen lips. Surely he hadn't just turned you down when you had been grinding on him and…oh god, you had actually been _begging_ him!

The hand at your thigh moved upwards, cupping your ass for a brief second before trailing back down to squeeze your hip. "I'm going to have the mother of all fucking blue balls after this, but I refuse to take advantage of you when you're intoxicated."

"I told you, I'm not drunk!" you asserted. You had no clue why you were arguing instead of thanking your lucky stars that he had pumped the brakes on what was happening, since it was obvious that you wouldn't have been able to do so.

"Maybe not, but ya ain't fuckin' sober either," he drawled, his thumb rubbing circles into the denim on the front of your hip. It took quite a bit of effort not to swivel your hips in response, your flesh still hungry for the feel of his, despite his obvious reluctance.

He caught your heavy-lidded gaze with his own, making sure that his words were clear and straight to the point as he said, "When you and I finally do fuck, it's going to be without any physical or emotional crutches in the way. That way you can't say it was alcohol or grief over the loss of a compound member that made you do it. When you come to me, and believe, doll, you _will_ come to me _,_ it'll be because youcan't resist any fucking longer."

Trying to maintain some control in a situation that was quickly spiraling into more serious territory than you had expected, you tartly replied, "How arrogant. It'll be a cold day in hell when I come to you sober and ask for sex. Not taking me up on it now is your loss, dude, because I won't be offering again."

Instead of chuckling or giving a sarcastic retort, Negan looked at you seriously and replied, "Don't worry, doll. I got all the time in the world, and I don't mind waiting." He then finally allowed a smirk to twitch his gorgeous lips upwards, and he ran his tongue across the front of his teeth while purring, "Waiting will just make the victory taste even sweeter."

Realizing that he obviously wasn't going to be convinced to have sex when Jameson was fueling the decision, you decided that you were done discussing it and so removed yourself from his lap. Standing in front of him awkwardly, you suddenly felt self-conscious and a bit embarrassed. Never in your wildest dreams would you have thought he would be the one turning you down, even if for a chivalrous reason.

Reaching down and picking up both nearly-empty glasses of whiskey, Negan stood and walked over to the desk to set them down beside the mostly-empty bottle. Opening a drawer, he pulled out a spoon and grabbed the container of food that you had completely forgotten was sitting on the desk this whole time.

"You should probably eat something, doll. Going to bed with a stomach full of alcohol doesn't lead to a very pleasant morning."

Begrudgingly admitting that he was right, even if you mostly just wanted to bolt now after your embarrassing actions of a few minutes ago, you walked over to join him at the desk.

He took a bite of the stir fry before scooping a second spoonful and holding it out to you, moving the spoon out of reach when you tried to take it from him. Realizing what he wanted, your eyes widened before you complied and opened your mouth so that he could feed you the bite.

While such an action should've felt condescending, it was instead kind of sexy. You hadn't had anyone feed you since childhood, and this felt absolutely NOTHING like that. Your eyes connected with his as you bit into the spoon so that he couldn't pull it away. Grinning around the metal, you licked over the edge of the spoon in what you hoped was a seductive manner. Apparently you had succeeded, since Negan's eyebrows raised and he gave a tiny groan.

"Fuck, doll. If you wanted to kill me, a knife would be faster."

Giggling, you watched as Negan took another bite himself. It went that way until the food was gone, him alternating between feeding you and feeding himself. It was strangely intimate and yet not awkward at all. When you had finished the last bite, Negan lifted the spoon to his mouth and ran his tongue over both sides to remove any trace of remaining sauce. Heat flooded your cheeks as you imagined that tongue licking over something else, more specifically _somewhere_ else _._

Turning towards the door, you cleared your throat and stated, "Thank you for the food. I think my stomach is sufficiently full enough not to commit a mutiny come morning."

"Hold up, doll," Negan commanded before you could reach the door. Looking back, you saw that he was pulling on his gloves. He then picked up Lucille, who had been laying unnoticed on an end table against the wall, and followed you to the door.

"What are you doing?" you asked when he followed you out into the hall and closed the door behind him. "I can walk back to my room on my own, ya know."

"I'm sure you can, but it's late, and the least a gentleman can fucking do after getting a lady drunk is make sure she gets home safely."

Rolling your eyes at this, but deciding it wasn't worth it to argue yet again that you weren't drunk, you instead started down the hall, the two of you walking side by side in silence. It was a friendly silence, once again not awkward. Actually, the fact that the silence didn't feel awkward almost made things awkward…if that made any sense. It probably didn't. Maybe you were drunk after all.

Thankfully, you didn't run into anyone on the way; most of the compound was probably passed out in their beds 'til now. It wasn't until seeing your own bedroom door that you realized you were exhausted and ready for bed as well.

Stopping at the door, you cheerfully stated, "Whelp, I made it."

Negan chuckled as you were unable to stifle a loud yawn while opening the door. Turning back to him, you questioned, "So now who is supposed to make sure _you_ get back home safely?"

Giving a tiny grin and swinging Lucile dramatically, Negan answered, "I think I can manage. No one ever has to worry about _my_ safety."

Furrowing your brows, you couldn't help but teasingly argue, "Well that's just too damn bad, because it's too late."

Lifting a brow in question, Negan quirked his lips up in a lop-sided smirk and asked, "Too late for what, doll?"

"Expecting me not to worry about you," you said boldly, the residual alcohol buzz and utter exhaustion combining to make you once again loose-lipped. You really were going to be kicking yourself in the morning for all the shit that had been said tonight, even if it _was_ all true.

The smirk drifted off his lips at your words, as if he hadn't been expecting such an honest response. Taking a step towards you, he leaned down and pressed his lips gently to your forehead before saying, "Good night, doll. Lock the door behind you."

He had disappeared around the corner before you could even fully comprehend what he had just done. You lifted quivering fingers to your forehead and felt the spot where his lips had touched. For some reason that gesture had felt way more intimate than when you had been straddling his cock with your tongue in his mouth.

Deciding that you didn't have enough awake brain cells left to fully care, you tucked it to the back of your brain and entered your room, locking the door safely behind you just like Negan had ordered. Kicking off your sneakers and trudging sleepily over to the bed, you were unconscious before your head even hit the pillow.


	24. The Hangover

Waking up the next morning was, to say the least, painful. Blinking open crusty eyes, you let out a groan as what felt like a bolt of lightning went through your skull. At first there was confusion, followed by the certainty that you were dying. Then memories resurfaced, and you remembered who the culprit was: Jameson.

You sat up in bed, which caused the room to start spinning and your stomach to drop. _Nope,_ your subconscious moaned. _Fuck this, you're going back to sleep._ Lying back down, you allowed yourself to drift unconscious, hoping that when you next woke up, the pain would be gone.

This plan was only partially successful. You weren't sure how late it was when you next opened your eyes, but this time the room didn't spin when sitting up. Head still throbbing, but less intense than before, you finally felt able to try moving without fear of toppling over. Absolutely parched, you drug yourself out of bed and over to a small crate that held some necessities and snacks. Grabbing a bottle of water, you practically inhaled the lukewarm liquid, thinking that H2O had never tasted so amazing in your entire life. The lingering aftertaste of whiskey was still in your mouth, causing you to slightly gag and reach for the toothbrush and toothpaste in another crate. Taking a small swig of the remaining water, you inserted the tooth brush into your mouth and scrubbed until your teeth felt squeaky clean and all you could taste was mint. Unwilling to walk down the hall and to the bathroom just yet, you spit the toothpaste-water back into the bottle before recapping and throwing it in the trash can.

Grabbing clean clothes out of the same crate that had held the toothpaste, you started to lift the grey t-shirt over your head when a random thought hit. _This was the same shirt you wore the first time you kissed Negan._ Huffing out a laugh, and then also a groan at the resulting throb this caused your head, you wondered if the shirt was jinxed. Perhaps you should start calling it your "snogging shirt".

With this thought, it was as if floodgates had opened in your brain, and all of the events of last night came pouring to the forefront, hitting you with a tidal wave so strong that you had to stumble back over to the bed and sit down. You thought back to everything that had happened in Negan's room, from the shots of whiskey and him laughing over Trixie and Dwight, to him confiding in you about Ken and then turning you down when you begged him for sex. Groaning again, this time more from embarrassment than pain, your brain replayed the make out session frame by frame. How he had let you kiss him again despite his supposed no-kissing rule. How his chest hair had felt under your fingers and his denim-covered cock had felt between your thighs. The sensation of his soft yet also delightfully rough beard tickling your chin as he whispered against your lips in that deep, raspy voice. Heat spiraled in your stomach and traveled lower at the memories. He had warned you in this very room only a few days ago that he wouldn't bring up sex again, not unless you begged him for it. Whelp, your dumb ass had gone and done just that.

You were still a little surprised that he had turned you down without letting things go very far. Sure, you knew Negan valued consent, as shown by his no-tolerance policy in regards to rape and sexual assault. But after weeks of trying to get in your pants, you hadn't expected a couple shots of Jameson to be such an effective cockblock. Although, now that it was the next morning, you had to admit that he'd been right: you had definitely not been sober and definitely would've blamed the alcohol for any sexual activity. Which would've been even more embarrassing than the current situation of blaming the alcohol for causing you to beg and grind on his lap.

Head still throbbing, you got back off the bed and peeled off your clothes, which somehow all had the lingering smell of whiskey on them. Thank god you owned a second pair of jeans. They were a little tighter than the pair you typically wore, and had a long, horizontal tear that ran across the back of your left thigh a couple inches below your ass, which was another reason you preferred not to wear them unless necessary. They were the pair you had worn when arriving at the compound, the tear a result of getting caught on a branch out in the woods with Tim and Maria. Tim, the asshole, had made more than his fair share of comments about the thin strip of upper thigh that was showcased by the tear. However, it was better than putting the other jeans back on and risking someone smelling the whiskey. There was no way in hell you could explain to Ben why you smelled like alcohol. _Guess you'll be doing laundry again sooner than expected._

Pulling on the peach-colored t-shirt and a fresh pair of socks to go with the sneakers, you opened the door and stepped out into the hall. The hallway lights caused you to squint and lift fingers to massage your temples as the headache throbbed more insistently. Negan had also been right about this: you had drunk too much whiskey, you felt like shit, and it was completely your own fault.

Thankfully, you had already planned on going to the medic today to ask about getting your stitches removed, so there was hope that maybe they could give you some pain meds for the headache as well. Trudging through the halls, which you swore were more brightly lit than they had been yesterday, you finally made it to the medic station.

Thankfully the place was empty, so you were able to be immediately seen. At first the medic seemed skeptical about taking your stitches out since it had only been 6 days, which was a little shorter than their original 7-10 day estimate. However, after examining your finger, they agreed that it was healed enough.

You watched with interest as they cut the knot off the string and gently pulled the thread out of your finger. Thankfully there were no scabs stuck to the stitches, so other than feeling some slight pressure, there wasn't any pain as they were removed. The skin was slightly pink and looked a little puckered from the stitches pulling it taunt. Despite the fact that it was healing well, you still bet that you were going to have an interesting scar to showcase from now on.

Before leaving, you mentioned having a horrible headache, hoping that they would give you something rather than making you go to commissary and waste a large amount of points. Medication wasn't cheap around here, so you profusely thanked the medic when they willingly gave you two pills of a knockoff generic-brand Tylenol and a cup of water to help swallow them.

Praying that the pills would kick in soon, you left the medic station and walked back down the halls to your room. Despite the hangover, your stomach was growling and insisting on nutrients. The thought of oatmeal made you want to hurl, so you walked back over to the crates and pulled out a granola bar and another bottle of water. Sitting on the bed, you chewed thoughtfully while once again going over the events of last night.

Even though your finger was still quite tender, you hadn't seemed to notice last night. And even though you couldn't fully grip anything without a dull throb of pain, that hadn't stopped you from gripping onto Negan during your little make out session. Chances were the alcohol had dulled any pain you might've felt while gripping onto his shoulders. Desire had probably dulled the pain as well, seeing as how all the blood in your system had pooled down into that one specific area below the waist.

Finishing the granola bar and water, you decided to stay put for a little while. Although you had slept in until almost noon, it was still too early to go down to the kitchen, plus you didn't want to be around a bunch of people or noise until the pain pills kicked in. You also didn't think going outside would be smart, since the humid air and hot sun might make you feel nauseous. _Ugh. How did you ever stand drinking this much and being hungover before the apocalypse?_

Probably because back then life was a little more lax, and you could take the day off if needed. Laying on your comfy couch in your comfy apartment while watching cheesy reruns and ordering greasy takeout had been a viable option for battling hangovers. Sometimes you really missed those days.

Leaning back on the bed, you picked up _The Scarlet Letter,_ but quickly found that reading did nothing to help with your headache. Without even realizing it was about to happen, you drifted off to sleep yet again, waking up an unidentifiable amount of time later to find that the book had fallen out of your hand and off the bed onto the floor. You quickly sat up, and the generic Tylenol had finally kicked in, since there was no answering throb in your skull at the movement.

Opening the door to the hallway, you saw that it was almost 2:30pm. _Oh thank god! You were only out for a little over an hour._

Dinner prep usually started around 2 or 3pm, depending on the recipe, so that the food could be ready to start serving around 5pm. Dinner would then continue to be served for about two hours in order to give everyone time to arrive and eat after a long day of work. Today's recipe was a simple baked ziti dish, which wouldn't take long to prep, so you were right on time when walking into the kitchen a little before 3pm. Most of the other staff was already there, except one of the servers, a young girl who had arrived at the compound the same time as Ken. A quick chat with Ben confirmed that she had arrived earlier obviously upset over the news of Ken's death, which had filtered through the compound at an alarmingly fast rate last night. Ben had made the decision to give the girl the day off, which you were thankful for, since it was a decision you also would've made if you had been here earlier. Despite being down one staff member, dinner prep was looking to be fairly relaxed and simple today. Or at least it _should've_ been simple, but of course that would be too much to ask.

The rest of the staff members had all arrived and the prep work was starting. Big pots of water were heating up on the stove to cook the ziti, Trixie and another girl were thawing dough to make rolls, and a few other members were wrapping silverware for the place settings. The water had just started boiling, so you were dumping boxes of ziti into the pots when out of the corner of your eye the door to the kitchen swung open.

Looking to the left, you about dropped the noodle box into the water as well when you saw Negan enter the kitchen with two men in tow. And one of the men was Dwight.

Dwight and the other individual, the man named Seth who had told you about Ken at dinner yesterday, were holding large cardboard boxes that appeared heavy from the way they were carrying them. Negan had Lucille in one hand, but with the other he held up what looked like a stack of pans and declared, "Ho ho ho, Merry fucking Christmas." _He brought you the things you requested for the supply run!_ Your subconscious squealed.

Trying your damnedest not to blush at the sight of Negan, thoughts of last night once again started swirling through your head. Your subconscious was practically cackling in glee at the sight of him, but you mentally shut it up and composed your face into what was hopefully a neutral expression.

"What's all this?" you asked calmly.

Placing the pans on an empty counter, Negan gestured for Dwight and the other man to step forward. "Brought some goodies from the supply run. Where the fuck you want it?"

"The boxes of food can go in the pantry so we can unpack them later," you suggested.

Glancing to your right, you saw Trixie standing nearby. To anyone else, there would be nothing out of the ordinary about the situation, but you could tell that she wasn't as cool and collected as she tried to appear. You almost wondered if Negan had brought Dwight along on purpose just to fuck with both of their heads. Knowing him, there was a good chance he had. Unable to hide the tiny smirk that quirked your lips, you ordered, "Trixie, show Dwight and Seth where they can put the boxes in the pantry."

It wasn't your imagination that Trixie slightly jumped at the mention of Dwight's name, and while you knew it was completely petty, for once it felt nice to be able to give _her_ a shit-eating grin and watch as _she_ squirmed in front of others, instead of the other way around.

After she had walked off with Dwight and Seth behind her, you turned back to Negan, who was glancing in the boiling pots curiously. Lucille was up over his left shoulder and he was twirling her in his gloved hand absent-mindedly while observing the bubbling ziti water. You were almost annoyed that he seemed in such a "normal" mood. It's not as if you had expected him to be lying in bed cradling his head like you had been, but still. It would've been nice to know that he felt a little hungover today as well. Misery loves company and all that jazz.

Even with the pain pills, you still had a slight underlying buzz of a headache, and were fatigued despite the fact that you had slept in late _and_ taken a short nap. But not Negan. Even though he had ingested double the amount of Jameson you had, the jerk appeared fresh-faced and ready to take on the world, with no visible indication that he was feeling any negative aftereffects from the whiskey. Had he even been affected by it last night? You kinda really hoped so, seeing as how the thought of you grinding on him and begging while he was still sober was about a thousand times more embarrassing than doing so while he was tipsy. _God, what had you been thinking?!_

Feeling a need to fill the silence before your brain overanalyzed itself into a full-blown panic, you awkwardly cleared your throat and said, "We're making baked ziti. Would you like me to have someone send a tray to you when it's finished?"

His eyes left the pots and focused on you; although his expression was stoic and showed none of the various emotions from last night, you still felt your cheeks start to heat up. It was almost impossible to look at him now and not think about how it had felt to be straddled in his lap with his tongue in your mouth.

"No fucking need," he replied. "I'll make sure Sherry or Amber come down and get one for me later."

You were a little disappointed that he hadn't told _you_ to bring the tray, but reminded yourself that it would've looked weird for him to ask that in front of the others. In fact, you should probably stop staring at him or else everyone was going to start thinking something was up.

Turning to your staff, who had been half focused on their tasks and half watching the exchange with Negan, you called out to the girl on roll duty, "You can start pre-heating the oven now!"

The girl nodded and went over to do as she was told. Turning to a few other staff members, you ordered them to go out to the cafeteria to start cleaning tables and setting the silverware. Finally, you told two other staff members to open the cans of sauce and get the packs of shredded cheese out of the cooler to combine with the ziti when it was done boiling. Ben was standing nearby, so you asked him to dump out one of the heavy pots of ziti into a waiting sieve in the sink. It wasn't that it was too heavy for you, but your healing finger still made gripping and lifting heavier items a bit precarious, and boiling water wasn't something you wanted to risk spilling.

Turning to glance back at Negan, you found that he was intently observing everything, as if fascinated by watching you work.

"You're almost as fucking good at giving out fucking orders as I am," he stated with what sounded suspiciously like pride.

Trying to ignore the swell of delight that hit your chest at his praise, you evenly replied, "Why, thank you, sir."

His eyes flared briefly at the words, and you couldn't help but twitch your lips upwards briefly in response.

Lifting your hand, you held up the healing finger and stated, "I got my stitches out today, so I'm almost good as new."

This wasn't totally true, since your finger still had a decent amount of healing to do, but at least the stitches being gone made it look less grotesque, and it really was healing quite quickly, for which you were grateful. Thank god for having a young and healthy body that could swiftly bounce back from such injuries.

He looked at the finger with brows furrowed deeply in thought, as if trying to figure out a difficult answer to a crossword puzzle. Out of the corner of your eye you saw Trixie walk back over with Dwight and Seth, who were now box-free. Expecting that the visit was finished, you turned back to the remaining pots of pasta on the stove, which were also ready to be drained. Turning off the burners and motioning for Ben to come dump these as well, you made to walk away and go start mixing the sauce and cheese together for the pasta. Instead, you heard that goosebump-inducing, gravelly voice say your name.

Turning back around, you felt pinned to the spot by his bright tawny gaze. You'd think that 'til now you'd be a bit desensitized to his attractiveness, but unfortunately that wasn't the case. In fact, you wondered if you'd ever be able to look at his eyes or stare at his lips or hear his voice without instantly getting turned on. God, if you didn't pull it together, then soon you might find yourself twirling locks of hair and giggling like Trixie.

Forcing yourself to focus and not look like a pathetic love-struck teen, you quirked an eyebrow in question and asked, "Yes, Negan?"

You swore the left side of his lips started to twitch upwards, as if he wanted to smirk but caught himself just in time. Instead he kept a neutral expression; the only hint of emotion was the burning fire of his gaze latched onto yours.

"Tomorrow morning. Meet me at the front fucking gate at 7am sharp if you wanna play Little Red Riding Hood and traipse through the fucking woods."

Eyes widening in shock and excitement, you blurted without thinking, "We're going on our first outing?!"

This time the left side of his lips really did curl upwards into a slow sneer. "Isn't that what I just fucking said, doll?" The smirk left his face and was replaced by a scowl, but his eyes were still twinkling with humor as he added, "Be one fucking minute late and the Big Bad Wolf is fucking leaving without you."

With that, he turned and walked out of the kitchen, Dwight and Seth trailing quietly after him. As soon as the door closed behind them, it felt as if reality came rushing back in. Your excitement was replaced with complete and utter horror at the realization that this exchange had been 100% public.

Sure enough, when you turned around, it was to find all of the kitchen staff standing frozen and openly staring at you with mixed expressions of confusion and shock. Ben was gawking with an expression on his face as if you had suddenly sprouted an extra pair of legs and started tap dancing. And your shit-eating grin karma had already hit full-force, because the size of the one on Trixie's face rivaled any she had showcased previously. Every single one of the staff members had heard Negan telling you to meet him tomorrow, not to mention the "Little Red Riding Hood" and "Big Bad Wolf" comments. They had also seen him smile and call you "doll", which was a nickname typically reserved for private interactions.

You could think of absolutely no explanation to tell them that would make the situation look any less incriminating. It was as if your brain had finally declared defeat and left the building, refusing to any longer participate in covering your slip-ups with Negan. And your subconscious? Oh, it was ringing cow bells and whooping with glee, so excited about the prospect of an outing that it didn't even realize that there was anything wrong with the current situation.

Staring back at the staff in silence, you opened your mouth, found that no words were able to come out, and promptly closed it again.

 _Fucking hell. You are so fucking fucked._


	25. Damage Control

The kitchen staff was still staring, and you had no clue how to respond. Trying to reason with them or give an excuse seemed pointless at the moment, seeing as how your brain had left the building and no intelligent responses were to be found. Then the thought hit: _you're in charge here! You don't have to explain yourself to them._

Deciding to take a page out of Negan's book, you constructed what was hopefully an authoritative tone and commanded, "What are you people staring at? Get the hell back to work!"

There was a pause as people continued to look shocked, whether still from the exchange with Negan or now because of your tone of voice, you weren't sure. However, after a brief hesitation, everyone appeared to start moving again at once, going from staring openly to actively avoiding any potential eye contact with you.

Well, everyone except Ben.

He continued to openly gawk, and you could practically hear the gears whirring in his brain as he tried to process what the hell your interaction with Negan meant. Turning away from him, you walked over to start mixing together the cheese and sauce for the ziti. Once that was finished, you turned back to the sink to retrieve the strained ziti, a quick glance confirming that Ben was still frozen to the spot.

It was as you went to lift up the first strainer of ziti that you saw movement out of the corner of your eye.

"I got it," Ben said, finally unfrozen and back into work mode.

It carried on this way for the rest of dinner prep; Ben was strangely silent and contemplative, while everyone else seemed afraid to make eye contact, which you were fine with. In fact, you now understood why Negan used fear tactics to help run the compound. Things were so much easier when people were afraid to speak, since there were no pesky questions or stares. Only Trixie appeared unaffected by your outburst; a permanent smirk was fixated on her face as she bounced around the kitchen, baking rolls and arranging them in baskets before skipping them out to set on the multiple cafeteria tables.

Dinner was almost finished being served, and you were almost convinced that it was possible to finish your duties and leave for the evening without any interrogation. However, after a server had taken the last round of pasta bowls through the door into the cafeteria, you felt a hand lightly touch your shoulder. Looking over, you saw Ben standing there with a look that showcased a mixture of shyness yet determination.

"Can I talk to you in the pantry for a minute?"

Your stomach dropped. More than anything, you wanted to decline or use some excuse as to why you couldn't, but knew that would just make the situation look even worse. Nodding begrudgingly, you followed Ben across the tiles to the back of the kitchen, aware of the gazes that followed both your retreating backs.

Stepping into the pantry, you couldn't help but notice how different the atmosphere was in here with Ben compared to Negan. With Negan, the pantry had felt tiny when filled with his presence, as well as seeming like a safe haven. It had almost felt like a pocket of space where time was suspended and no one was able to intrude, which was why you both had let down your guards when last in here. However, with Ben, the pantry felt so large as to be imposing, the rows of shelves seeming to loom all around, as if the various cans and boxes were a jury trying to prove your guilt.

Fidgeting his feet, as if unsure where to start, Ben finally appeared to gather his courage. He took a deep breath and finally looked you square in the eye while asking, "Wanna tell me what that was all about with Negan earlier?"

Sweat started to break out on your palms as you floundered for a response. You knew this had been coming, but were still unwilling to be honest. _What if Ben judges you? Or even worse: what if he doesn't want to be your friend anymore when he hears you've been hanging out with Negan?!_

It took an awful lot of willpower not to twist your sweaty hands anxiously while replying, "I'm not sure I know what you're talking about."

Giving an exasperated look, Ben accused, "Oh come on, you really think I'm that stupid? That kinda hurts."

 _Shit_. Not the response you had been expecting. _Maybe you could be sliiiightly honest with him. Kinda like how you were with Maria, but with even less detail?_ your subconscious suggested. For once, your brain seemed to be in agreement.

Puffing out a breath, you said, "Okay, fine. I'll admit, me going out in the woods with Negan tomorrow might seem a little weird. But I swear it's not." You hesitated before continuing. "He agreed to take me outside the compound for a few walks through the woods so I could look for berries and such. After the success of the hawthorn crisp, he thought maybe I could find some other stuff in the woods to use in the kitchen."

Even though you had originally meant to be a little more honest with Ben, the lie just seemed to pop out automatically. And technically, there _was_ some truth behind it, since a big part of the reason you wanted to go outside the fences was to explore the surrounding area and see if there were any nature-made goodies to find.

Still appearing skeptical, Ben pointed out, "Okay, but then what was up with the pet names? I mean, 'Red Riding Hood'? And 'doll'? What the heck?"

You could feel the beginnings of heat brushing your cheeks, and inwardly cursed. Giving a forced laugh, and hoping it sounded genuine, you joked, "Oh, come on, Ben. You know how Negan is. I'm sure he thinks those comments are funny or something. I should just be lucky I get called 'doll' and not 'mother fucker' like a lot of other people around here."

Ben stared intently, as if looking for any hint of deceit, so you leveled what was hopefully a neutral expression back at him, refusing to even blink for fear that he would see right through your dishonesty. Finally, his shoulders seemed to sag a little and he gave a reluctant nod before conceding, "I guess that makes sense. Although…I don't know…there's something about the way he looks at you." His gaze hardening slightly, Ben added, "I don't like it."

Surprised at the protectiveness in his voice, you couldn't help the answering thump of guilt that beat in your chest. Ben was just trying to be a good friend and look out for you, and of course a good friend would be worried if a man like Negan showed any speck of interest. And yet here you were, lying to said friend, yet again. _But maybe it's for his own good? If he knew the truth, he would just worry constantly, which would complicate things even more._

Looking at Ben with a small, reassuring smile, you asked, "Is there anything else you needed to discuss?"

Finally reverting to the carefree Ben you knew and loved, he gave you a small smile in return and said, "Nah, I guess that's it. Just…be careful tomorrow, okay?"

Flashing an even bigger grin, you joked, "Oh, don't worry about me. After being cooped up here for so long, I'll be more than ready to take down any potential walkers I encounter."

You swore you heard Ben mumble, "That's not what I meant," under his breath, but decided to ignore it in favor of leaving the pantry.

Even your subconscious seemed a little in doubt about this situation. _How long do you think you can keep this from everyone? Especially if Negan keeps saying things that put you in a compromising situation?_

Yea, about that. Excited as you were to go out in the woods with Negan, you knew a talk was also needed. You had no idea why he had mentioned the outing in front of the entire kitchen, but you sure as hell planned on getting answers tomorrow.

0

Sighing, you glanced out the open bedroom door into the hall to look at the clock. 11:55pm. God damnit.

After leaving the kitchen, you had decided to do a load of laundry, especially since you needed your other pair of jeans to wear for work tomorrow. There was actually a group of women here whose duty was to wash and dry all the laundry in the compound, but you typically preferred to wash your own clothes. No one had done laundry for you since you were a pre-teen, and so the thought of allowing someone else to do it now as an adult seemed strange. Or maybe you were just too independent for your own damn good sometimes. _Or in this case, maybe you wanted something to do to pass the time so you'd stop fixating on the outing tomorrow._

Well, if that was true, you had failed miserably. Seeing as how it was already the middle of the night and you didn't have a tired bone in your body, you didn't know how this was going to work in your favor tomorrow morning. Especially since you still had no idea how you were going to wake up at the right time.

You had quickly realized that without any type of alarm, or any clock in general beside the big one mounted in the hallway, getting up early enough to meet Negan at the fences was going to be a bit problematic. Usually you woke up on your own around 8 or 9am since you didn't have to be up at the crack of dawn like those with other compound duties. And of course, the commissary had already been closed up for the evening, which meant you couldn't go see if there were any alarms or watches or _something_ to help wake you up on time.

There was the solution of asking Ben if he could wake you, since he had to be up super early himself to prepare breakfast. However, pride kept you from wanting to place any more responsibility on him. Not to mention you weren't in the mood to potentially hear another lecture from him about Negan. Heck, at this rate, your anxiety and excitement about tomorrow might cause you to not even fall sleep at all.

After folding all of the clean clothes, you had organized and reorganized the belongings in your crates before laying out your outfit for tomorrow. You had then tried to sit down and read the last few chapters of _The Scarlet Letter_ , but were unable to concentrate since your mind kept drifting to the outing tomorrow. There were about a dozen questions floating around your head in regards to the outing, none of which you knew the answer to.

Would you find any berries? Would Negan bring any of his men with him, or would it just be the two of you? Would anyone else see you leave, and did you care if they did? And, perhaps most importantly: how were you supposed to act around him after everything that had happened last night? Would it be best to just act as if nothing had happened? Or maybe you should bring it up? _Or maybe you should just grab a hold of him, kiss him, and tell him now that you're sober, you're still willing to ride him like a racing stallion all the way to the finish line._

Sometimes you really wondered if your subconscious was actually just your ovaries masquerading as something more intelligent.

Resigning yourself to the fact that sleep wasn't on the horizon, despite it being almost midnight, you paced back and forth in the tiny bedroom while trying to decide what to do next.

That was when you noticed Ricardo.

The mop was still propped up against the wall; you hadn't found the time to return it, and had been afraid someone would see you do so and report that you had stolen it. At this point, it would almost be best to just keep the damn thing, although you had no use for a mop. Not unless you could somehow use it as a weapon.

It was then that the metaphorical lightbulb flicked on in your brain.

Now, two hours later, at a little after two in the morning, your master plan was almost complete. Using your small pocket knife, Ricardo had been beheaded so that the mop end was now bare, and you had whittled the end until it was tapered into a long, sharp point. Ricardo the mop had now become Ricardo the spear.

Turning the long stick from side to side, you were quite impressed with your handy work. It wasn't perfect by any means, but you were confident that it could impale any needed walker skulls on the outing tomorrow. Carving at the wood for so long had also succeeded in tiring you out, your eyes half-lidded and mouth constantly spewing out yawns.

Deciding that perhaps you would lay down for just a quick nap, you closed and locked the bedroom door before curling up on the bed, Ricardo and the pocket knife lying in the rumpled sheets at your side. Your eyes closed of their own volition and your mind was finally able to slow down the gears that had cranked out so many questions earlier, allowing you to dip into unconsciousness.

0

The next thing you knew, there was a loud pounding noise that jolted you awake with a gasp. Sitting straight up in the bed, you felt disoriented as the pounding continued. _What in the hell…_

Finally possessing enough awake brain cells to determine that the pounding was someone at your door, you scooted off the bed and half stumbled, half ran to the door to see what the big emergency was.

You about toppled over from shock when you saw Negan standing on the other side of your door with the biggest scowl on his face. If he had been a cartoon character, his ears would be spewing steam right about now.

"What in the holy fucking hell are you fucking doing?!" he bellowed.

 _Oh sweet Christ, what time is it?!_

Looking over his shoulder at the clock on the wall, you felt bile rise into your throat as the hands showcased that it was almost 20 minutes past 7am. You had overslept. Again. And Negan was _not_ happy about it.

"I…shit, I…I overslept," you blubbered stupidly.

Glaring at you, he boomed, "How the motherfucking fuck could you fucking oversleep when I _told_ you what time to be outside?"

Cringing inwardly, you saw a door or two open up further down the hall, curious compound members poking their heads out of their rooms to see what the hell was going on. Your first instinct was to shrink in the face of his anger. Thanks to your recently positive interactions with him, you had almost forgotten how god damn intimidating Negan could be when he was well and truly pissed. However, shrinking and acting submissive had never been your strong suit, especially when faced with a chauvinistic male.

Squaring your shoulders, all traces of sleepiness gone, you calmly, yet firmly stated, "I overslept because I don't own any alarms or clocks, and commissary was already closed, so I had no way of waking myself up this morning."

Glowering down at you menacingly, Negan replied, "Better not fucking happen again. You're fucking lucky I'm even still standing here waiting for you. It's not like I don't have fucking better things to do than skip around the god damn woods with a woman who is chronically late for fucking everything."

Biting your tongue to hold back any sarcastic responses, you knew that now was not the time to push him. Especially since he was indeed still standing there, as if willing to wait for you to get ready and go on the outing.

"Give me 2 minutes to get dressed and I'll be ready to go?" you asked hesitantly.

Rather than verbally respond, Negan gave a quick jerk of his head in the affirmative. You turned and shut the door quietly so that he was left in the hall, then became a virtual whirlwind of movement as you scurried to get dressed. You had changed into your blue gym shorts last night, so you whipped them off quickly before putting on clean underwear and the tight jeans with the tear in the thigh. Much as you liked your other pair, you couldn't risk getting them dirty out in the woods when you had just finished laundry last night. Since you had accidentally fallen asleep wearing a bra, you decided to just leave that and the peach t-shirt on, grabbing some deodorant from a crate and swiping under your arms to freshen up. A glance in the mirror showed that your bun was falling out, so you quickly took it down, ran your fingers through the strands, and whipped it up into a quicker, much messier version of your usual bun. Grabbing the knee-high black boots that you hadn't worn since your last outing over three weeks ago, you pulled the leather up over your legs and tucked your pocket knife securely down into one of the shafts for protection. You then picked Ricardo up off the bed before hurrying across the room and opening the door to find Negan was thankfully still on the other side.

"I'm ready," you announced.

Negan's eyes scanned over you quickly before stopping to rest on the stick in your hand. "What in the ever living fuck is that?"

Giving him a deadpan expression in response, you said, "This is Ricardo."

His brows lowered into a confused furrow as he assessed the beheaded mop-turned-spear before turning his gaze back to your face, then back to the mop-spear. You saw when the connection clicked in his brain, because his eyes darkened in obvious annoyance and a muscle started ticking rhythmically on the left side of his jaw. Part of you wanted to laugh at his reaction, but another part was semi-terrified that maybe you had crossed a line, and that this might be seen as a disrespectful gesture towards him and his "relationship" with Lucille. Not giving you a hint as to what he was thinking, Negan turned away and started down the hall, throwing Lucille over his shoulder before growling, "Let's fucking go. I'm not going to waste my whole fucking morning doing this shit."

 _Well fuck, so much for him being in a good mood. Guess it'll be super easy to act like the other evening never happened after all._

Sighing deeply, you hoisted Ricardo up over your own shoulder and marched down the hall after him.

You watched as his broad, leather-clad shoulders marched in front of you, Lucille swung up over his left one. Looking at her now, you thought that Ricardo appeared absolutely pathetic in comparison. Sure, Ricardo could do some damage and was a perfectly efficient weapon that didn't need any help in taking down a walker by himself. But next to the deadly beauty of Lucille he looked so simple, unadorned, and almost feeble. He was still capable on his own, but it sure did elevate your feelings of safety to know that Lucille was there to help you out, as well, if things should get out of hand in the woods, and that she could take charge of any dangerous situation with one hefty swing.

You couldn't help but think that both your weapons represented an even larger metaphor of Negan versus yourself. You also viewed yourself as independent and ready to single-handedly take down whatever challenge came your way. But next to the deadly beauty of Negan, you sometimes felt like maybe you weren't as tough as you thought, and that maybe it actually wouldn't be so bad to have someone else in your corner, as well. Someone who could be there as back-up when needed, and maybe even take charge once in a while to give you a break from the constant need to be perfectly in control. Someone who could help balance you out and allow you to balance them out, as well. Not to mention the fact that Negan was as striking and adorned as Lucille, and sometimes you felt as simple and basic as Ricardo.

And now you had taken a simple mop-spear and wire-wrapped baseball bat and turned them into some philosophical comparison to you and Negan's relationship. Wow, there might be a good chance that you were still delirious from lack of sleep.

Picking up the pace so that you were right behind him, you followed Negan through the halls and out the front door of the compound, excitement and uncertainty boiling in your stomach at the thought of what might occur in the next hour out there in the woods.


	26. Little Red & The Big Bad

Walking out the front door of the compound, you were fairly shocked at the amount of activity already happening. The sun was steadily climbing upwards in the sky, the last hints of orange-pink sunrise fading off in the distance. And while the daylight had just gotten started, it appeared that quite a few people had beat the dawn and already been awake for some time. A few armed guards patrolled up and down the tall, chain-link fence, while other random compound members walked to and fro across the front area, some heading around the side of the building to your left, perhaps towards the garden. A group of four young children chased each other, giggling and screaming across the pavement, while half a dozen women stood nearby. The women were keeping an eye on the children while also focusing on the large piles of wet laundry that they were currently hanging up to dry on the multiple clotheslines that ran parallel to one another along the front of the compound.

 _Dear lord, how early do people get up around here?_

As you followed Negan out onto the pavement, you watched as all activity seemed to halt as everyone realized who was in their midst. Even the children stopped their game and became suddenly serious as they all gazed up at Negan. And then, almost as if they were all robots, and someone with the remote had pushed a button that said, "kneel," they all dropped to their knees in unison and bowed their heads in supplication.

You came to a halt yourself at the scene, shocked by the instant reaction Negan had caused. Would it look weird that you weren't kneeling as well? Actually, if you were being honest, you had only kneeled before Negan once, and that was when you had first arrived at The Sanctuary. His men had been the ones to bring you, Maria, and Tim here, and they had forced you to kneel before Negan made his introduction. You had hated every moment of it, and had told yourself that you wouldn't act so submissive in front of any man ever again after that day. True to your word, you hadn't engaged in the kneeling ritual since.

In fact, now that you were thinking about it, none of your dinner staff kneeled when Negan entered the kitchen either. You remembered that everyone in the kitchen _had_ kneeled for him when you first started working there. Right from the start, you had refused to follow the others' particular form of greeting anytime Negan visited the kitchen. The first time this happened, his eyes had met yours across a sea of kneeled bodies and bent heads, and you had been certain that punishment was imminent. That this whole kneeling process was one of his "rules", and you were about to find out what happened when it was broken. But instead, he had just gazed at you intently, face devoid of any hints as to his thoughts. He had then turned his attention to Ben, who was the "head cook" at that time, and carried on with his business as if you didn't even exist.

As you had quickly worked your way up the ranks of the kitchen, you had noticed that the other staff started to look up to you. You had figured that it was a natural reaction for people to look up to the person in charge, and so hadn't thought much of it at the time. Now, you realized just how much they respected you as their boss, for while they might freeze when Negan entered the kitchen, and at times they would even bow their heads or direct their gaze down at the floor, no one had touched their knees to those kitchen tiles in over a month now. Outside the kitchen might be a different story, but inside those four walls, no one prostrated themselves in front of Negan the way all of these people outside were currently doing. You wondered if Negan was aware of the difference in greeting when he entered the kitchen, and if he was also aware that you were most likely the root cause of it.

Either way, you weren't kneeling to him. Not in the kitchen, not outside the kitchen, and definitely not now on the hot pavement.

Forcing your feet to unfreeze themselves and continue to move forward, you tried to maintain a relaxed, yet hurried pace in order to catch up with Negan, who was almost to the fences. You swore you could feel over a dozen gazes on you in passing, but you ignored them, focused instead on the sweet escape of the forest, which was so close you could almost taste it.

As you reached the fence, you saw that there was a large grey bin sitting on the pavement; it was identical to the one that had arrived at the kitchen a couple weeks ago filled with berries. After one of the men who was patrolling pulled the gate open a couple feet, Negan reached down and grabbed the grey bin in one big, leather-incased hand before walking out the gate and towards the forest.

You continued to follow silently, the sound of the gate softly clanging shut again behind you signaling that your first outing had officially started. And thanks to your unwavering luck, it had started with Negan being in a piss-poor mood.

Sighing, you walked a couple feet behind Negan as he marched deeper into the woods, too enamored by your surroundings to overly care at the moment that he was still being a grump. As The Sanctuary faded out of sight, the forest started coming to life around you. The sound of birds chirping created a soothing background noise as you wound in and out of the trees, stepping around large rocks and fallen logs scattered on the ground. Even though there was a light scattering of leaves on the grass, and he was still angrily marching along, Negan's footsteps created almost no sound whatsoever. You had no clue how he was being so silent, seeing as how, even with visible effort, you still felt as if your feet found the crunchiest part of every fallen leaf in your path. While you didn't think you were making _that_ much noise, you still felt like a lumbering bull in a china shop compared to Negan's graceful steps.

Although, to be fair, your legs were working faster than usual to try and keep up with his long strides. And you were starting to get annoyed that he was trudging ahead with no hesitation, considering that one of the terms and conditions of the bet was that _you_ were to be in control of where the two of you wandered. Your annoyance was building with every begrudging step; annoyance at both his attitude and the fact that you were almost jogging to keep up with him. Just as you were at the point of giving some snarky comment about this entire situation, Negan came to an abrupt halt, causing you to almost run straight into his broad back, your nose stopping inches from the leather.

Peeking around his shoulder, you saw that he had dropped the grey bin in front of a large bush which was full of hawthorn berries. Eyes widening, you saw that there were also two more hawthorn bushes about a foot or two to the left of the first one. Hundreds of the little red fruit glistened happily in the rays of sunlight that were streaming down through the trees. It was like a god damn berry goldmine.

"How did you know this was here?" you asked in awe.

Negan just shrugged in response before turning his head, eyes roving all around the surrounding area for any potential threats.

He obviously had known that the bushes were here, which meant he had either been somehow involved with picking the berries used for the dessert crisp, or he had found these bushes ahead of time in order to show you today.

Deciding that he probably wouldn't answer if you asked which assumption was correct, you turned your attention from Negan to the bushes, excited at the prospect of filling the tub with berries and perhaps using them tonight to make a dessert.

Thoughts of various recipes swirled in your head as you walked over to the bushes. You bent over and plucked a couple red orbs off the bush, fingers delicately avoiding any of the thorns that you knew from past experience were sharp as hell. A strange sense of déjà vu hit when you glanced over your shoulder and saw Negan standing there behind you. The situation seemed so similar to the first time you had met him out here in the woods, and yet at the same time it was so different. Now you weren't terrified to within an inch of your life at the look of annoyance on his face. Sure, he was still an intimidating man, and his anger still caused you to inwardly cringe, but part of you instinctually knew that no matter how mad he was, he still wouldn't hurt you.

Also, you were about 90% sure you had caught him staring at your ass when glancing back at him, even though he had quickly flickered his eyes up and away.

Giving a tiny smirk before turning your attention back to the bushes, you lay Ricardo down on the ground so that you could use both hands to pick berries one at a time with the tips of your fingers, gently tossing them into the bin sitting in the grass to your right. The berries made a tiny _dunk_ sound as they hit the bottom of the container. The actions soon became almost rhythmic. Pick, toss, _dunk._ Pick, toss, _dunk_.

The bin was coated with a thin layer of berries when you were finally unable to stand the silence any longer. Without looking back at him, you jokingly threw the words over your shoulder, "You going to act pissed at me the whole time we're out here or what?"

Silence was your only answer.

Gritting your teeth and trying unsuccessfully not to roll your eyes, you stood up, brushed your hands clean, and turned to face him. Humor obviously wasn't going to crack his stone-cold façade, so you decided to poke the bear, so to speak.

Putting a hand on one hip, you asserted, "It's not like I purposely overslept, ya know. It was an honest mistake. I think you're taking this whole thing way too personally."

Negan clenched his jaw and glared at you while quietly growling, "Is that fucking right?"

The fact that he spoke so softly and evenly should've warned you not to further prod him, but in all honesty, you almost preferred his anger over the previous silent treatment he had been doling out. Therefore, you firmly replied, "Yep, that's right. You'd swear it had been my plan all along, to make you stand around waiting. Well, newsflash, sometimes accidents happen. I have no clue why you're acting so butthurt about the whole thing, but standing there moping isn't helping the situation."

That did it. You could practically see his anger rising to the surface, almost as if his skin was glowing with it.

Negan took a step in your direction, his voice rising as he barked out, "I was standing there waiting like a fucking fool for fifteen fucking minutes! How the fuck do you think that makes me look to the rest of the compound? I'll give you a mother fucking hint: not cool!" His voice lowered almost to a snarl as he added, "You have no idea how not fucking cool that shit is."

So _that_ was why he was being such an ass: he had been forced to wait for you in front of other people, and felt as if he'd been stood up. So basically, his ego had taken a hit, and now he was projecting his own insecurities back onto you. _Typical alpha male,_ you thought angrily. _Well, two can play that game._

"So, because waiting made you look _not cool_ " -you lifted fingers to form air quotes around those last two words- "you're going to take it out on me this entire trip now? Nice. Real mature."

Taking another angry step towards you, Negan opened his mouth, probably to spew more curse-filled bullshit that would only infuriate you both more. So instead, you quickly interrupted him before any words could tumble out.

"So I guess you were lying when you made that comment the other night, then?"

This effectively caused him to snap his mouth shut, brows lowering as he gazed at you in angry confusion.

"What exactly was it that you said?" you asked, tapping one finger against your chin a couple times while pretending to look pensive. "Oh, that's right! You said that you had all the time in the world, and that you didn't mind waiting for me. Remember that?"

Negan was still glaring at you, but he appeared momentarily at a loss for words, as if in shock that you would throw his words from the other night back in his face with such ease.

Still annoyed, and internally preening that you had effectively gained the upper hand of the situation, you continued, "So I take it that was all a lie, then? Or better yet, perhaps you think I'm only good enough to wait for when the end result is me taking my clothes off for you, is that it?"

Raising one eyebrow cynically, you gave him a cocky look that clearly said "well, how you like them apples, big boy?" You were extremely curious to know how he was going to respond to _that_ accusation. And, if you were being honest, deep down you did indeed question if that was how he saw you: as only worth any effort or time if it meant getting you naked and underneath him. Sexy as that last thought may be, you'd like to think that at this point he thought of you as a little more than a piece of meat to crawl on top of…

Both your train of thought and any potential response from Negan were cut short by the sound of a garbled moan coming through the trees to your left. You and Negan both turned your heads sharply at the sound, and you felt a tiny spark of fear run down your spine at the sight of movement in the trees a few yards away. _Walkers!_ your brain screamed, right as a small herd of four decomposed corpses came into view, lumbering clumsily through the brush towards where you and Negan were standing.

Most likely it had been your raised voices arguing that had alerted them to your presence. Later on, you'd look back and think it strange that both you and Negan, but especially Negan, lost your cool to the extent of making so much noise outside the safety of the compound. Apparently anger and annoyance had gotten the upper hand of logic and self-preservation, and now this was the consequence of that mistake.

Reaching down, you grabbed Ricardo off the grass and hefted him up in front of you. However, before you were able to take a step towards the walkers, Negan stepped forward, directly blocking your path.

Annoyed, you tried to move around him, but he sharply commanded, "Stay the fuck back."

Seriously? He was really going to choose now to play some macho bullshit and treat you like a helpless damsel in distress? No fucking thank you.

Stepping around him again before he could block your movement, you walked forward to the walker leading the pack and jammed Ricardo up under its chin so hard that the tip poked up out the top of its head. Yanking Ricardo back, you watched in satisfaction as the walker dropped to the ground like a stone.

Turning, you saw Negan had moved in front of you again, which caused annoyance to flare your nostrils. However, you became a bit distracted when he lifted Lucille and swung powerfully, taking one of the walker's heads clean off, so that it landed with a muffled thud a few feet away. Negan in action was a sight to see, and you were only partially ashamed to feel a tingle of arousal dart down your belly and between your thighs as you watched him. He walked up to the third walker and swung Lucille with enough force that he released a low grunt as the deadly wire connected with the walker's skull. If anyone were to look up the phrase 'beautiful brutality' in the dictionary, they were sure to find a picture of Negan holding Lucille mid-swing.

Finishing off the fourth and last walker, he then turned to you, a murderous glint in his eyes. At first you assumed it was just the aftereffects of adrenaline, but when he locked those storm-cloud eyes onto your own, you realized that he was pissed.

"I thought I fucking told you to stay motherfucking back!" he roared. "You could've gotten yourself fucking killed trying to swing that fucking stick around!"

 _Stick?! TRYING?!_

"I killed one of the fuckers, didn't I?!" you shouted angrily. "I'm not some helpless woman who needs an arrogant man to save me!" You weren't sure if him trying to take charge of the situation had just been his way of trying to protect you, the same way he would anyone out here in the woods with him, or if he had assumed you wouldn't be strong enough to hold your own because you were a woman. Either way, he could take his condescending words and shove them right up his annoyingly adorable ass.

Pissed off seemed to be the mood of the day for Negan, who glowered at you while replying, "And what if it hadn't fucking worked? Have you even tried to fucking poke anything with that stick before now, or did you just decide to _hope_ it would be fucking useful and wait 'til it was a life or death situation to find out?"

He had you there. You hadn't tried to stab anything with it before today, mainly because you had just made it last night and so had lacked anything stab-worthy to practice on.

Your face must've given away the answer, because he continued, "While we're out here, you follow _my_ fucking orders. If I say stay back, that means you stay the fuck BACK! Otherwise, the bet is off and you can kiss the two other outings fucking goodbye."

You opened your mouth, intending to argue, but a rustle of movement over Negan's right shoulder caught your attention instead. Pure, cold fear swam over your body like a glacier as you saw a fifth walker, previously unnoticed, pop silently out from behind a tree not even five feet from where Negan was standing. It was heading straight for him, its rotting mouth wide open in anticipation of a fresh meal.

Negan was so busy being pissed about your not following his orders that he didn't even hear its footsteps behind him. Your vocal cords felt paralyzed, unable to form the words to yell a warning. However, your body acted instinctually, rushing forward to cover the short distance. The glare on Negan's face turned quickly to confusion, and then to shock, as you knocked him out of the way with your shoulder before bringing Ricardo up and forward with a speed and accuracy that surprised both you and Negan.

You stabbed Ricardo at the spot where Negan's shoulder had been just a split second ago, accurately spearing the animated corpse right in the middle of its forehead. Due to the momentum, and also perhaps due to fear causing your palms to be slick with sweat, Ricardo slipped out of your hands as the walker slumped to the ground, motionless.

Turning, you saw Negan staring at the now twice-dead walker with a look of complete shock still on his face. Reaching down, he grabbed ahold of Ricardo and jerked him free, showcasing a hole where the walker's upper face had previously been.

Taking Ricardo from him, you couldn't help a grin of triumph from crossing your lips as Negan looked at you, still speechless.

"Well," you joked, "Still think Ricardo and myself are incapable? Because I think it's safe to say that we just saved your ass."

His eyes darkened to the color of rich espresso and his mouth tightened into a thin line, which you first thought signaled that he was well and truly pissed and about to give you the mother of all lectures. However, it wasn't just anger that was fueling his expression, you later realized. Oh no, there were other emotions mixed in there as well, ones that you weren't sure you were ready to fully comprehend yet.

But at the moment you only saw anger, so a furious, loud response was what you were expecting. However, what happened next was surprising, to say the least. The thunderous scowl on his face coupled with his forward motion in your direction almost caused you to take a defensive step backwards, but you held your ground. Barely.

The expected explosion of anger never came. Nor did any yelling or swearing. Instead, his arm shot out, wrapping around your waist and jerking you into him. A gasp tore out of your throat an instant before he slammed his mouth down onto your own.

The kiss was one born of lust and anger, and even fear. It was both a thank you and a punishment rolled into one toe-curling show of passion that would've blown your socks off, if you'd had time to put any on this morning.

Your tongues slide against each other, teeth nipping at lips and hands clutching roughly at the other's shoulders, back, waist, hips. It was a damn good thing no other walkers showed up, because you didn't think either one of you would've noticed until it was too late. It was possible that an earthquake could rock the entire forest and you wouldn't be able to stop, not with Negan's tongue deep in your mouth and his hands grasping you tightly. At one point he gave a low, rumbling groan that you felt more than heard, and it caused you to shiver and wrap your arms around his neck in a death-grip.

You had never known a kiss could feel like this. Never before had you felt such a powerful urge to strip a man of his clothes and have your way with him just because he had his mouth fused to yours. And never before had you felt as if you couldn't get close enough to a man, couldn't mold your body tightly enough to his to satisfy the burning need coursing through your veins. It was as if the only way to be satisfied was if you could somehow crawl inside him and meld your bodies into one. It was terrifying and yet thrilling at the same time, and you wondered with the few functioning brain cells that were left if Negan was feeling any of this, as well.

After what could've been a few seconds or an hour, you didn't know and didn't care, Negan finally lifted his lips from yours. His chest rose and fell sharply with his labored breaths, as did your own. Looking up at him, you couldn't help a tiny whimper from escaping at the look in his dilated, lust-darkened eyes as he gazed at you silently. He appeared as if a man starved who had just been set down in front of a 5-star buffet with all his favorite foods. No man had _ever_ looked at you in quite that manner, as if you were the answer to all his prayers and the relief to all his wanting. It excited you, and at the same time, utterly terrified you.

Wanting to break some of the intensity of the moment, you smirked, "It's about damn time you kissed me first."

Instead of adding humor to the situation, your comment caused his eyes to darken even further, until they looked almost entirely black. There was a moment where you were certain he was going to pull you back against him and pick up where he had left off. Images of him tearing off all your clothes and fucking you up against the nearest tree flashed through your mind, almost causing another whimper. You weren't completely positive, but the look in his eyes hinted that he was having very similar thoughts.

However, that look only lasted for a few fleeting seconds before Negan stepped back from you, dropping his gaze once again to the walker still lying on the grass nearby, then over to the four other corpses spread around the clearing. Previously, you would've thought that making out with five decomposing corpses haphazardly strewn around you would be a total turn off, but apparently you were wrong. There had been something almost primal about killing this herd of walkers and then engaging in a no holds barred kiss with the most powerful, attractive, and infuriating man you had ever met.

Unsure what to do next, you looked around, realizing that Ricardo had once again been discarded on the ground during the kiss. And he wasn't the only one. Both Ricardo and Lucille had been dropped by their respective owners during the kiss. You couldn't help the giggles that escaped as you saw that they now lay crisscrossing each other in the grass, almost as if to say 'X marks the spot'.

Reaching down, you picked up both weapons, handing Lucille over to Negan before turning back to the hawthorn bushes, where the bin of berries lay temporarily forgotten. You hadn't picked nearly enough berries to make a dessert for the entire compound tonight. However, previous events had made you utterly exhausted, and the last thing you wanted to do was take the time needed to fill the bin with hundreds of berries.

Turning to Negan, who still hadn't uttered a word since the kiss, you sighed, "I guess the berries will have to be put on hold until next time."

Negan's gaze moved from you, to the bushes, to the bin, as if considering his options. Finally he said, "Just leave the bin out here. You can finish tomorrow."

"Tomorrow?" you asked, unsure if you had heard him correctly.

Negan nodded. "Unless of course you fucking object to outings two mornings in a row."

Happiness built in your chest and leaked out in the form of a huge grin as you replied, "Tomorrow morning sounds perfect!" After what had happened out here today, you had almost feared that Negan would try to cut the bet short, saying that it was too dangerous to continue coming out here like this. You definitely hadn't expected him to want to come back again the very next day. _Maybe he's just trying to get all three outings out of the way as soon as possible so he can get you out of his hair._

You pushed aside the intrusive negative thought, not wanting to let anything dim your current glee. The excitement must've been slightly contagious, because Negan's lips curled up into a small grin at your bright-eyed, wide-grinned expression. It was the first time all day that you had seen his lips curl upwards, and even though the grin was a shadow of his usual one, it still caused a tingle of heat to curl warmly in your stomach.

"Alright, Red, let's call it a fucking day and head back," he said, his voice gruff but his eyes twinkling enough to let you know he was teasing.

Still grinning, you replied, "Aw come on, I think I proved today that I'm not some helpless damsel who only wields a basket of sweets."

Eyes still twinkling, he teased, "I don't know, doll. I'd say, what you had, tasted plenty fucking sweet to me."

You felt fire hit your cheeks at his words, at the same time as that warm sensation in your stomach split in two different directions. One half slithered downwards to spark the embers of lust in your nether regions, while the other half moved upwards to settle in your chest, suspiciously close to where your heart was located.

This time, you walked side by side through the forest, as equals. You both meandered in and out of trees and bushes, but not once did you feel as though he was leading you or trying to charge ahead. This, more than anything, let you know that the earlier conflict had been resolved. After almost getting his shoulder ripped off by a walker, perhaps Negan realized that waiting 15 minutes for someone wasn't really that important in the grand scheme of things, after all.

As you saw the compound start to become visible through the trees, you felt a pang of sadness hit. You didn't want the outing to be over, didn't want to go back through that gate and have to put your emotional mask back on. The mask that would have to showcase to others only indifference and annoyance at being in Negan's presence. The mask that would have to act as if that kiss back in the woods had never happened.

Turning to glance over at him, you saw that he had already been staring at you, and from the look on his face, you wondered if he was currently thinking the same thing.

Giving him a soft smile and bumping his shoulder playfully with your own, you teased, "So, do I get to tell the whole compound the story of how Little Red Riding Hood saved the Big Bad Wolf?"

You felt as if you were floating when he gave a full-fledged grin back and joked, "Only if you really want to see what big, nasty teeth I have."

It was at this time that you exited the edge of the woods and stepped onto the path leading up to the gate. Both of you had automatically wiped your faces clean of any non-neutral expression, so as not to attract any attention. The same guard, who had opened the gate before, now did so again. The women who had been out here earlier were gone, dozens of pieces of clothing left flapping on the clotheslines. The children were gone as well, probably to the same place as the women. There weren't any people currently walking in front of the compound at all, which you guessed meant that they had all gone to their respective work areas and were currently plowing away at their tasks, trying to get as much done as possible before the late morning heat arrived.

You were thankful for this, since you knew seeing a group of people once again bowing as you and Negan walked by would bring you back to reality faster than a slap in the face. You didn't want to completely accept that reality yet; wanted to hold onto the fairytale for just a little while longer.

Maintaining your neutral expression, you quietly and calmly asked Negan, "And what would happen if I wanted to see them?"

You swore you felt more than saw his brows lower in confusion as he replied, "See what?"

"Why, your big nasty teeth, of course."

Understanding dawned, because he easily slipped back into the fairytale as well, even if externally he would appear to anyone else to be the same formidable, glowering leader he always was.

"Why, I'd show you how they're all the better to eat you with, my dear," he growled. His husky, sin-filled voice caused goosebumps to scatter across your arms.

If anyone walked by and happened to notice the fire-engine red blush that heated your cheeks at his words, you hoped they would just attribute it to over exertion from being out in the heat.

You refused to look over at him, so instead kept your gaze forward and locked on the front door that was slowly drawing closer. If you made eye contact with him right now and saw any of the hunger on his face that he had shown out in the woods, you would give your thoughts away for sure.

Instead, voice low and raspy, you flirted back, "But I thought you already did, seeing as how you said I tasted sweet."

You heard the smirk in his voice as he whispered back, "Careful, doll. A taste is one thing. If you're not careful, the Big Bad might just decide to gobble you up, instead."

With that, he turned away and walked off to your left, heading around the side of the compound and towards one of the outposts where he ordered men to keep continual watch of the surrounding woods.

Trying unsuccessfully to maintain your calm expression, you could feel heat still flaming on your cheeks, lips fighting to curl upwards into a smile as you opened the front door and stepped inside. Glancing at the clock hanging in the main hallway, you were shocked to see that it was only 8:40am. Despite everything that had happened, you had only been in the woods barely over the agreed-upon hour.

It was almost shocking to think of the wide range of emotions Negan was able to bring out in you over such a short period of time. Heaven forbid you ever had to spend an entire 24 hours in his company. You both would probably kill each other way before the time was up. _Or fuck each other's brains out repeatedly_. Ah, there was your subconscious. You had almost wondered if it was ever going to wake up and join the party. It had appeared to be dormant during most the outing, which was surprising, since it tended to jump to the forefront quite frequently when you were around Negan.

Laughing wickedly, your subconscious whispered, _Who do you think encouraged you to call Negan out on his behavior? And who do you think pushed your brain out of the way when he kissed you, so that you could be free to respond instinctually and kiss him back? I was more active out there in the woods than you think. You just didn't realize it because deep down you didn't want to fight my suggestions this time._

You gave a mental hat tip to your subconscious. Even your brain added a resounding chorus of _touché, touché_.

Your subconscious just responded with a large grin and a deep bow.


	27. Watch My Love Grow With Time

Walking into the compound and down the main hall, you were quickly snapped back to reality when you remembered that Ricardo was still covered in blood and bits of flesh from the two walkers you had stabbed out in the woods. Glancing up at the bloody tip hanging over your shoulder, you grimaced. _How the hell are you supposed to clean this off? How does Negan clean Lucille?_

Either luck or divine intervention chose that moment to help you out, as you turned a corner and found an elderly woman pushing a cleaning cart down the hall. You guiltily hoped it wasn't the same cart that you had stolen Ricardo from the other night.

Walking up to her with a smile, you asked to borrow one of the yellow mop buckets from the cart. At first she gave a scowl that said she was clearly going to refuse, but when you swung Ricardo down from your shoulder for her to see, her face paled and she wordlessly thrust a bucket at you, tossing a clean rag in it as well. Thanking her, you walked off, not realizing until you rounded the corner that perhaps you should've clarified to her that it was walker blood on your weapon, and not from a fellow compound member.

You walked upstairs to your room, which was on the third floor, like most of the other private rooms (except Negan and his wife's rooms, of course, which were above you on the fourth floor). Moving clothes out of the way, you laid Ricardo across the wooden chair so that his blood-stained end hung off the side. You then grabbed the pail and went down the hall to the closest single-stall bathroom to fill the bucket halfway with warm water. Using both hands, you were careful not to splash any water on yourself as you carried it back to your room. Adding some laundry detergent, you swirled the rag in the now-disinfected water, grabbed Ricardo, and sat down in the chair with the bucket between your legs.

About ten minutes later and Ricardo's point was once again clean, whereas both the rag and the water in the pail were a dark red color that was anything but appetizing. Picking up the bucket, dirty rag, and detergent, you walked back down the hall to the bathroom, praying you didn't run into too many people while carrying a bucket of watered-down walker guts.

The hall was blissfully clear except for one older gentleman who smiled at you in passing, but thankfully didn't glance down at what you were carrying. Arriving at the bathroom, you dumped the contents of the bucket into the toilet, pushed the flusher, and watched satisfactorily as the bloody water swirled down the drain. You repeated the process a couple times, swishing sink water and detergent into the bucket before dumping it down the toilet, and using some paper towels to wipe it out until the inside was as clean and bright yellow as when you had first retrieved it. Looking at the red-stained rag, you knew that it was a lost cause, and so tossed it in the bathroom's trash can.

Walking back downstairs to the first floor, you arrived at the hall where the woman had been before. She was nowhere to be found, but the cleaning cart was there, sitting against the side of the hallway. You placed the bucket back where it belonged and returned to your room. Now that Ricardo was clean, you were free to focus on yourself. Grabbing shower items and a change of clothes, you walked down to the women's showering area, which was one floor below your room. Once freshly showered and changed, your stomach gave a rumble to remind you that it had been ignored all day thanks to your whirlwind morning. Taking the shower items back up to your room (you really were getting your exercise today with all these stairs), you grabbed two granola bars out of a wooden crate and scarfed them down with a bottle of water.

Now feeling refreshed, you decided to head down to the commissary to look for an alarm before your next outing tomorrow. Negan hadn't specified if you were to leave at the same time, but you weren't taking any chances after oversleeping this morning.

The commissary was on the first floor, as was the medic station, kitchen, and other common areas. The commissary was set up kind of like a department store and grocery market hybrid. There were displays and rows of various items that were organized into various categories, such as clothing, toiletries, and snacks.

Alarm clocks had always been a hot commodity here, since most compound members had to be up at the crack of dawn, or earlier, to start their tasks. Therefore, you weren't surprised to find none available when looking at the electronics section.

However, when you had been here a few days ago buying some necessities, you had wandered up and down some of the aisles out of curiosity, and had seen a watch that caught your eye. It had been a women's digital sports watch, mostly black with a dark purple stripe on the band and some dark purple accents around the face that gave it a faintly feminine air, without it appearing girlish. Stopping to read the little paper attached to it that gave the point price and a brief description, you had seen that the watch was waterproof and included an alarm. You had at first been tempted, but then noted the amount of points needed to buy it, and had immediately put it down and kept walking. Since you were careful with your points, you had enough to buy the watch, as well as the needed batteries, which of course were sold separately, but it still had a much heftier price tag than anything else you had bought from commissary in the past. Pre-apocalypse, such an item probably wouldn't have cost more than $30. But here, with alarms and watches being in high demand, such an item's worth was elevated as to be comparable to a prized diamond necklace.

However, after the debacle with Negan this morning, you decided that it would be worth using the majority of your points to purchase the watch, especially if you planned on being at the gates bright and early tomorrow for the second outing.

Walking down the rows of items, you got to the accessories and jewelry section, where you had last seen the watch. At first you thought perhaps you had come to the wrong area after all, since instead of the sports watch there was just a little display of three cheaper, plastic watches. Their faces were all non-digital and they obviously lacked any extra features such as an alarm.

Looking up and down the aisle, you saw that the watch was indeed gone. You felt a bubble of frustration in your chest. Checking with the person on commissary duty just to be sure, they confirmed that it had been purchased, and that all watches were out of stock other than the three plastic ones displayed. With no alarm clocks available, and now no digital watches, your chances of finding something useful to wake you up for the outing tomorrow had just gone from slim to none.

Grabbing another box of granola bars, a pair of socks, and a magazine, you started heading in the direction of the checkout area. Passing by personal care products, you grinned as you passed the tampon section. Rather than the usual line up of one super-sized brand, you saw that there were now light and regular sizes, as well as a couple various company brands of tampons. Hell, there were even pantiliners and light-sized pads, rather than just heavy ones! _Well, would you look at that? A man who listens to your tampon request is a man who's a keeper._

Metaphorically shoving your subconscious back a few steps, you arrived at the checkout area so the man who was working could write down the total for your items, so that they could be later subtracted from your overall point total.

Disappointed with the entire trip, you trudged back upstairs to put the items in your room. Since it wasn't quite noon yet, you still had a few hours to kill before dinner prep. Rather than sitting in your room, you took the magazine and wandered outside, finding the picnic table off to the right of the front door empty. Seeing it reminded you of Maria, who you hadn't talked to since that conversation the other night at this very table.

Opening the magazine, which was an old tabloid, you found yourself unamused by the outdated articles and celebrity gossip. It was strange to think that there had been a time when it mattered who was dating whom and which designer dress would be showcased on which actress at whatever movie premiere. And here was an article about a young female model who appeared "pregnant" after she had obviously just had lunch, and was therefore spouting what any regular human being would recognize as a food baby. You felt almost morbid looking at the pictures, since there was a good chance each celebrity in these photos was either dead or a walking corpse by now. And you very much doubted that walkers cared if they had a food baby or not.

Sighing, you looked up to see that the women from this morning were back, and were taking down the lines of laundry before folding each item neatly and stacking it in the multiple large baskets sitting on the asphalt. The kids were back as well, once again chasing each other across the front of the compound while staying within close proximity to the women.

You watched the children with a small smile on your lips; their carefree joy in the game they had constructed was something which you had never thought to again witness after the dead starting walking the earth. It showed how safe they felt here, within the compound walls, under Negan's protection.

Thinking of Negan made your smile blossom even more. Your mind drifted to thoughts of the outing tomorrow, and of the bin sitting in the woods waiting to be filled with berries. You wondered if Negan would be at all lenient about what time you left tomorrow. Perhaps if you could somehow find him today and explain that it would be easier if you could leave a little later, when you were sure to wake up on your own... _Yeah, and maybe you can ask him to sing and dance for you while you're at it._

Trying not to overthink the situation in hopes that a solution would come to you before the day was out, you instead watched the women fold laundry, and the children play, until all the items of clothing had been taken down. The women then herded the children back inside, leaving you alone outside except for the couple patrolling guards.

You noticed that one of said guards was Dwight. He hadn't waved or gave any indication that he had noticed you, and that was just fine. After what you had seen in the women's shower room the other night, you were more than willing to keep a distance from him. You were afraid that if he spoke to you, your thoughts would be written all over your face. Or worse yet, you'd probably get flustered and blurt out something stupid like, "So, how's Trixie's pussy these days?"

The thought made you giggle as you picked up the magazine and headed back inside, dropping the magazine off in your room before heading back downstairs to the kitchen. The only staff there so far were Ben and two young women who were already folding silverware. However, by the time you had started chopping up some carrots from the garden (tonight you were making a vegetable stew), the rest of the staff had trickled in and started on their various tasks.

Dinner prep was going smoothly, and no one had said anything about what happened yesterday with Negan's visit. In fact, it was almost as if yesterday had never even happened. No one acted strange around you or avoided eye contact; they were their usual, happy selves, ready and willing to carry out any orders you gave them. Were they all really that great at acting? Or was it possible Ben had informed them that you had gone out with Negan in order to collect berries for dinner, therefore dismissing any suspicions?

This second possibility was confirmed when Ben came over to help you open cans of green beans and asked, "So, was the berry hunt this morning a success?"

You saw a few nearby staff members look up, curious to hear your response, and probably hoping that you had indeed brought back berries for another dessert. You also saw Trixie out of the corner of your eye, and you didn't have to look to know that she was hanging onto every word being spoken.

Giving a smile and a fake pout, you replied, "Only partially. We found a big batch of hawthorn bushes, but it took so damn long to locate them, that I only was able to pick a small amount before we had to come back. Negan said he'd take me back out tomorrow morning to finish picking them, so we should have enough berries tomorrow to make another crisp or some other type of dessert."

The nearby staff grinned excitedly at the prospect, while Ben just stared at you, as if considering whether or not to say something more. Instead, he seemed to mentally shake himself and give a small grin of his own, before saying, "Well that's good. If you need any help picking, I'd be glad to go along."

You felt your smile automatically start to slip, and caught it before it turned into a full-blown frown. "Thanks, Ben. That would be great, but you're too important here in the mornings. Who else would make sure breakfast runs smoothly?"

Thankfully, he just nodded at this, and the conversation was over. You discreetly puffed out a sigh while carrying the now-opened cans of beans over to the stove to dump into the bubbling pots of stew. You saw that Trixie was still watching you, and flashed her a 100-watt smile out of spite. She pursed her lips in response and flounced off to continue with her duties.

The rest of dinner went flawlessly, and the compound appeared happy with the stew. After cleaning up the leftovers, you stayed and ate with the rest of the staff, chatting happily until everyone had empty bowls and full stomachs.

Wishing everyone a nice rest of their evening, you left the kitchen and started back to your room. Now that there were no dinner tasks to focus on, your mind immediately went to tomorrow's outing. No magical solution had popped up today in regards to how you were going to wake up tomorrow, _if_ you were even supposed to meet Negan at the same time.

It was as you were stepping into your room that you wondered if perhaps it would be smart to go visit Negan in order to ask him about tomorrow, rather than assuming. You almost turned around and walked back out into the hall right then and there, intending to go upstairs to his quarters, when something caught your eye.

Coming further into the room, you saw that there was something lying on your bed, more specifically, on the pillow. Confused, you walked across the room hesitantly, certain that you hadn't left any personal items lying there earlier. Walking up to the bed, you stared down at the item on the pillow, mouth dropping open in shock.

It was the watch. The black and purple sports watch from the commissary. The one that had been gone when you went there earlier today.

 _What in the hell…_

Picking up the watch, you saw that someone had put batteries in it, as well as entered the correct time. And there was a little icon lit up showcasing that an alarm had already been set.

Looking back down at the pillow, you finally noticed the slip of paper that had been lying under the watch. Picking it up and unfolding it, you saw the same scrawling handwriting that had graced a previous note, one which was still folded and hidden under your mattress.

This one read: _**So that you won't be late this time. 7:00am tomorrow. I'll be at the front gate. Negan**_

You stared at his signature, the first 'N' large and graceful, while the second 'n' looped out at the end, as if it were reaching for more letters to add onto itself, but had been left hanging. Only he would have friggin beautiful handwriting, like something out of an important 18th century document.

Looking back at the watch, you fiddled with the buttons and saw that he had indeed set the alarm for 7:00am. Cheeky bastard. But how had he…

The list of questions you had for Negan was steadily growing, and if you didn't start getting to the bottom of some of them soon, you were going to drown in them. But, for now, you allowed yourself to push these questions and over analyzations to the side, a gleeful laugh escaping as you buckled the watch around your wrist and looked down at it admiringly. It looked fantastic on you, if you did say so yourself. And once again, Negan had given you a gift that wasn't over the top or nauseatingly saccharine. He had gotten you something practical and useful, something you had been wanting. And now you had it, without having to use up most of your points.

After crawling in bed and turning off the light, you found yourself unable to stop from repeatedly opening one eye to look over at the watch, which was now sitting on the night stand so that you could read its digital numbers from where you lay. You fell asleep that night with a smile on your lips and a warm, fuzzy feeling in your chest.


	28. Crushed Berries

The next morning, you arrived at the front gate a little earlier than the agreed upon time. To be more precise, you looked down at the watch around your wrist and saw that you were exactly 7 minutes early, the black digital numbers showcasing that it was 6:53am.

You still couldn't believe that Negan had gotten you the watch. Feeling like a little kid on Christmas morning, you had repeatedly looked at it while getting dressed; heck, you were even able to know that you had randomly woke up at 4:13am last night without having to guess how late into the night it was, or get up and squint at the clock out in the hallway for confirmation. And you hadn't minded one bit when the chirping alarm woke you up out of a dead sleep, indicating that it was time to get ready for the outing.

Always having access to the time was a luxury that you had taken for granted before the apocalypse. Between cell phones, computers, car radios, and all the other electronic gadgets people used on a regular basis, time had never been a mystery. In fact, how often had you sat and stared at the clock, waiting impatiently for it to hit a certain number so that you could leave school or work or wherever else? That all seemed so frivolous now, when time was never a guarantee and always a valuable asset.

Since the apocalypse, you had learned that telling time meant more than just numbers on a clock. It was where the sun was in the sky, how deep the nighttime shadows reached, how long you had gone without fearing for your safety…and it was something that one didn't rush. No, time was precious now, in a way it had never been before. And yet, the thrill of being able to glance down and have an exact number to put to the instinctual estimate of your internal clock added an extra boost of happiness to your routine. Nowadays, it was the little things that could bring the most joy. Before, a guy buying you a watch would've caused you to scoff at his lack of originality, but receiving one from Negan was now ranked as one of the most thoughtful gestures you had ever experienced from a man.

And you were now about to see him for your second outing within the next 7…no make it 6 now…minutes. You shifted Ricardo up on your shoulder, wondering if you would need to use him again today. Thankfully, your jeans had only gotten a tiny drop of blood on the one thigh, which should wash out. You had re-worn said jeans, and put on a dark green T-shirt. Yes, it was the shirt that was cut lower and therefore showcased a bit more cleavage than usual. The one you had worn when Negan entered your room to check on your injured finger, and would've checked a few other body parts as well, if you hadn't stopped him. Whether wearing this shirt was purely by chance or premeditated intent, you would never tell.

It had still been mostly dark when you awoke, but now the first orange-hued rays of sunlight were creeping over The Sanctuary. The uppermost tip of the massive factory building was bathed in the illuminating sunbeams, and the compound was already coming to life, individuals stirring from their beds and starting the commute across the compound to their various task areas. The combination of both the sun and the people coming to life signified that the dark blue ocean of night was finished, and a new day had officially dawned.

At exactly 6:58am the front door to The Sanctuary opened, and Negan stepped out.

No matter how many times you saw him, or how long or short the time between interactions, your reaction was still instantaneous. The breath automatically caught in your throat, while your eyes were drawn like magnets to his form crossing the asphalt. His long, swaggered stride showcased arrogance and dominance; Lucille propped up over his right shoulder showcased authority and control. And his eyes locking onto yours from a distance of about 50 feet showcased both steel and warmth, making for a combination that managed to make you want to both take a metaphorical and physical step back, as well as want to rush forward into his arms and bring his face down to your own.

 _Wow, you've really got it bad for him, don't ya? If I didn't know any better, I'd say that you lo…_

You slammed the mental gates down hard on your subconscious, not willing to let it even finish its thought. Oh no, you were so NOT going there right now.

You were vaguely aware of a few compound members kneeling as Negan passed, but he didn't spare them a glance; his gaze instead stayed locked onto yours as he approached. His face showcased his usual gruff, serious expression…but his eyes were a different story. It was all you could do to maintain eye contact, to not glance down and away from the intensity of his stare. But that would be to admit defeat, to nonverbally show that you were intimidated. So instead, you held his gaze, even giving an arch of one brow in an attempt to look less affected than you actually were. _Sweet Jesus on a stick, that man gives a whole new definition to the term eye fucking._

This time you not only let your subconscious speak freely…you also agreed with its sentiment.

When he reached you, Negan finally broke eye contact and glanced over at the guard on gate duty. He only had to give a quick nod of his head, and the man was scrambling to open the front gate. Negan, still silent, swung his free arm out in a 'come on' type gesture before walking through the gate. You followed, equally silent.

It wasn't until you were both out of sight of the compound that Negan's demeanor started to change. At first you wanted to say he seemed more relaxed, but weren't sure if that was the correct word for it. He was still watchful and alert, but he seemed more…at ease? It wasn't visibly noticeable, but you could feel the change in his overall aura. Perhaps coming out in the forest was as therapeutic for him as it was for you.

He had been marching in front of you when in sight of the compound, but now he slowed his pace, dropping back so that you were walking side by side through the brush. Looking straight ahead, he gruffly tossed the words out the side of his mouth, "Nice to fucking see you on time for fucking once."

Also keeping your gaze directed forward, you threw back, "Yea, it's amazing what a difference having a watch can make."

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw him glance down in the direction of your wrist before grumbling, "Bout fucking time you got one."

Though his demeanor was rough, you immediately knew what was happening: this was how he acted when he was in a good mood. He would keep his gruff exterior for a while, his serious tone not giving away the fact that he was actually teasing. Then a few witty comebacks from yours truly would cause him to eventually crack and give one of his dazzling grins, with maybe even a laugh thrown in as well, if you were lucky.

The fact that you had these types of interactions down to a near science was surprising…and yet not surprising at all. You had come to realize that Negan wasn't all anger, violence and apathy. He had emotional layers, but they were buried deep, and were only showcased in subtle ways here and there. In fact, they were so subtle as to be almost nonexistent, and it was likely no one else was even aware of them, including his wives.

However, you had learned over the past few weeks that no matter what expression his face was showcasing, it was his eyes that always gave away his true emotions. And that though his voice was rough and intimidating, there was a slight lilt to it when he wasn't truly angry, and was just putting on a show. If someone had asked you to concretely describe what that lilt was you wouldn't have been able to do so, even with the threat of a gun pointed at your head. It was more an instinctual vibe he gave off than any tangible mannerism. And that was how you identified his emotions quite frequently…by instinct more than logic. You wondered if he was able to notice the same nuances of your own personality…and weren't sure if an answer in the affirmative would be comforting or just make you even more confused with the whole situation.

Affecting an airy, innocent tone, you sighed, "Oh, but I didn't buy it myself. Apparently I have a secret admirer."

You didn't have to look to know that his brows were furrowed at your statement. "Secret admirer?" he questioned. "Is that what you'd fucking call it? I'd say whoever it was probably did it more for the good of the fucking sanctuary, seeing as how being prompt isn't your forte."

Affecting a fake pout, you replied, "Really? You think that's why? Well heck, then I guess I better scratch out my special plan to thank him."

It was then that you arrived at the thicket of hawthorn bushes, the grey bin still sitting in the same place you had left it yesterday. Looking over at Negan, it was all you could do to keep a straight face as he appeared to contemplate your words, the serious 'I'm fucking Negan and don't fuck with me' expression slipping from his face in favor of a confused glower.

Turning, you went over to the bin and lifted the lid off before bending over to the nearest bush in order to start picking berries. After a few minutes of silence, Negan finally spoke. Since your back was to him, you were able to freely smile at his words.

"And how exactly were you planning on thanking this secret admirer?"

"Oh, I don't know," you lamented. "I guess it doesn't matter now, since he only got me the watch for practical reasons, and not because he was being nice."

A huff of breath was the only response. You were practically vibrating with the effort needed to not bust out laughing. It really shouldn't be this much fun to tease him, but you couldn't help it.

Glancing back over your shoulder and giving a devious smirk, you stated, "Maybe if my secret admirer helps me pick these berries, I'll reconsider my thank you."

Negan looked a little taken aback by the request, as if the thought of bending over a bush and picking berries was beneath him. He recomposed himself and stated, "If both our faces are shoved in a fucking bush, who's going to keep watch?"

Rolling your eyes, you taunted, "Since when are you unable to multitask? Besides – "at this you raised a brow and nodded in his direction before saucily adding – "I hardly pegged you as a man who denies an invitation from a woman to stick his face in her bush."

For once in your life, you had beaten Negan to the punch with an innuendo joke, and dear lord was the look on his face worth it. He seemed to freeze, giving you a look as if floored that you had actually said what you had, and then proceeded to throw his head back and laugh. You felt a smile stretch your own lips; here was the part where he broke his gruff demeanor, just like you had expected. And you had indeed been able to get a laugh from him when he did so.

Pointing Lucille in your direction, he chuckled, "Touché, doll. Tou-fucking-ché."

Walking over to where you stood, he assessed the bush in front of him before bending over and reaching his long arm deep within to grab a bigger bundle of berries. His leather glove and jacket kept both his hand and arm safe from any thorns, which you were currently jealous of, since you had been carefully avoiding the sharp barbs and therefore unable to reach too far into the bush.

The two of you continued in silence for a while, you picking the berries on the outside layer of the bush, while Negan delved further in for the bigger bushels. You would've thought the sight of Negan picking berries would be humorous, but he went about the task with the same determination and seriousness that he carried out any other duty. And, frankly, his help made the bin fill up way faster than if you had been doing this on your own.

When the pickings started to get slim, and the bin was about 2/3 of the way full, you and Negan each grabbed an end of the bin and together carried it over a couple feet to the next bush. Although you laid Ricardo on the ground while picking, Negan never let go of Lucille. A couple times he switched the hand she was in, but he never dared put her down. He was also continuously glancing around to make sure that there were no silent threats in the surrounding area.

You started out working side by side with the bin between you, but slowly drifted apart, Negan focusing on one end of the bush while you took care of the other. Turning so that you were facing away from him, you concentrated on picking the little red fruit as quick as possible in order to fill up the bin. There had been a companionable silence between the two of you while picking, but the silence was now broken by Negan's rough voice flatly saying, "Don't you make enough points to buy new fucking clothes?"

Startled out of your internal thoughts, as well as startled by his comment, you glanced over your left shoulder at him and replied, "I have plenty of points for clothes. Why?"

You saw his eyes glance down in the vicinity of your ass as he accused, "Well then why the fuck are you wearing pants with fucking holes in them?"

Realizing that he was talking about the slit across the back of your upper thigh, you couldn't help but chuckle and say, "Last time I checked, there wasn't a dress code for The Sanctuary."

He grumbled back, "Maybe there fucking should be."

Since you were still slightly bent over, you swayed your hips so that your butt swung back and forth a few times before joking, "I'm sorry, is this distracting you? I would've thought you had more self-control than to be thrown off by a little glimpse of someone's bare leg."

Still chuckling, you refocused on the bush, unable to see his reaction to the taunt. Finding a larger group of berries not surrounded by thorns, you triumphantly closed your hand around the bushel at the same moment that you felt a leather-encased finger trace along the length of your thigh exposed by the tear.

Gasping, you stood upright and whipped around, your free hand automatically going back to cover the spot that was now tingling from Negan's touch. He had moved up behind you without you realizing it, and now had his lips curled upwards in an arrogant smirk, as if proud of himself for causing such a reaction. "The hell was that for?" you gasped.

His lips parted, showcasing his pearly whites and causing his dimples to come out and play. If there was a God, they hadn't played fairly when creating this man. Who gave someone that voice, that smile, _and_ dimples?

"There was a mosquito on you," he stated innocently. "Fucker saw that luscious thigh of yours and was unable to resist."

You weren't sure if he was telling the truth or not, although you had a feeling the cards were tipped in the favor of not. Looking down at the hand not covering the back of your thigh, you saw that you had reflexively squashed the bundle of berries you had been picking. Red juice and little chunks of berry coated your palm and the length of your fingers. You flicked your hand to dispel some of the chunks, but it did nothing to help the coating of juice. You didn't want to wipe it on your jeans for fear of staining them, so you held up the hand so that Negan could see, and pretended to look irritated by furrowing your brows and pursing your lips into a pout.

"Look what you made me do."

"Whatya want me to fucking do about it, doll?" Negan asked, reaching down for another bushel of berries. "Ain't like we got any fucking napkins lying around here."

When you scowled at him in response, his lips twitched upwards and he drawled, "Course, you could always just lick it off."

Unable to hide the twitch of your own lips, you scoffed, "I'm not licking my hand like some cavewoman. _I_ am a lady," you added with a sniff.

Tossing the couple berries he had just picked into the bin, Negan reached forward and wrapped his gloved hand around your wrist.

The movement was unexpected, so you instinctually tried to tug out of his grip. And, of course, you were unsuccessful. "What exactly are you doing?" you asked with an arched brow.

Catching you with his bright tawny gaze, he purred, "Since you're supposedly incapable of licking it off, I figured I'd lend the lady a fucking hand. Or in this case, a tongue."

Staring up at him, your brain tried to process what he had just said. There was no way that he meant to actually…

Long, leather-coated fingers still wrapped around your wrist, he drew your hand up towards his face. It felt as if the movement was happening in slow motion, and you watched with mouth slightly parted and eyes wide as saucers as Negan brought your fingers up to his lips. His mouth opened, and his lips wrapped around your index finger down to the second knuckle, eyes never leaving your own. You were afraid your knees might buckle when he lazily swirled his tongue around your finger before slowly pulling his lips up and off the digit, leaving it completely clean of hawthorn juice.

"Fucking delicious," he growled before bringing his mouth to your middle finger. He repeated the process, and this time your head swam when his lips and tongue went to work licking off the berry juice. By the time he got to your ring finger, you were sure that the forest was spinning around you, but were unable to focus on anything other than the feel of his warm, soft lips and wet, sinful tongue. You were also unable to look away, mesmerized by the sight of your fingers disappearing one by one into his mouth, his gaze locked onto your face and cataloguing your every reaction.

When he had finished with your pinky, he then moved your hand so that he could take your thumb into his mouth, licking it clean before releasing it with a gentle 'pop'. At this point you were panting like a dog in heat, and were fairly certain that your panties didn't have one dry area on them. In fact, they might've just disintegrated 'til now.

He reminded you of some wild panther, his bright tawny gaze fixated on yours as he practically purred against your skin. Since the fingers were all clean, he then brought his mouth down to your palm and licked a broad stripe from the top of your wrist all the way up the palm to where your fingers began.

You couldn't contain yourself any longer, and a low moan escaped your lips at the sensation as he licked a few more broad strokes of his tongue over the sensitive flesh of your palm. His teeth nipped lightly at the delicate flesh between your thumb and index finger before he pulled away.

You looked in wonder at his lips, which were stained red from the juice on your hand. And just below his bottom lip, a drop of crimson glistened in his salt and pepper beard. Tearing your gaze from him, you looked down at your hand, now free of any berry residue. It felt as if every nerve ending in your palm and fingers was tingling, and you looked back up at him, still showcasing a look of shock, and most likely arousal. Negan's lips were tilted up in his usual smirk, but his eyes…oh man...his eyes were full of heated hunger, the pupils dilated so that only a thin, flaming ring of hazel was left visible.

Trying to kick start your brain was futile, as it was currently passed out on the floor, while your subconscious was running around it in circles, waving pom poms and cheering with excitement. You wanted to say something witty, something that would take the intensity of the situation down a notch and deescalate the current mood. Even the air around you seemed thick with lust, its sticky tendrils wrapping around you and causing sweat to rise to the surface of your skin.

There had to be a way to backtrack, to get back to the business of picking the berries, to stop staring at his mouth and that spot of red in his beard… _Oh, fuck it._

Unable to fight the urge any longer, you reached up and wrapped your hand around the back of his neck. It was as if he was anticipating the move, since his head was descending before you even completed the action. Tilting your face upwards and lifting up on your toes, you both met each other in the middle, lips fusing together in the first kiss which you both initiated simultaneously.

Opening your mouth and running your tongue along the seam of his closed lips, you moaned at the taste, the hawthorn juice creating a sweet icing to the delicious cake that was Negan's lips. He opened his mouth as well, and your tongue greedily accepted the invitation, delving past his lips in search of more of the sweet, addicting flavor.

Growling, he wrapped an arm around your waist, depositing Lucille on top of the berry bush before then cupping his second hand against the side of your throat, fingers reaching up to rest on your cheek. Your tongues danced together, first lazily massaging against one another before picking up in intensity. You nipped at Negan's lips, causing him to give a low growl, before trailing your tongue down to the spot on his beard where there was still a spot of berry juice. His beard was rough against your tongue as you lapped up the juice, and oddly, the sensation turned you on way more than expected.

Apparently Negan enjoyed the action as well, because he groaned before reaching down and grabbing the back of both your thighs and lifting upwards. Mentally, you were surprised, but your body was already a few steps ahead, legs lifting of their own violation to wrap around his waist as he carried you over a few feet to the nearest large tree. You felt the rough bark against your back, but couldn't find the energy to care about the slightly painful friction. In a way, it helped ground you to the moment, the tangible bite of the bark keeping you from floating up and away into space.

Negan's mouth left yours and started a downward trail over your throat, his teeth nipping and lips sucking at your soft flesh. You whimpered and tightened your legs around his waist, which caused him to groan in response. He continued his downward movement, the rasp of his beard causing shivers to dart up your spine as his face glided down into the cleavage that was showcased by the low-cut shirt. Gasping at the feel of his tongue sliding into the crease between your breasts, you grasped his hair in a death grip with one hand, while the other still clung to his neck as if it were a life raft.

"Negan," you breathed, licking your lips and again tightening your thighs on his hips, wordlessly begging for more friction.

He pressed you harder against the tree, and you felt his erection press between your thighs through the layers of denim. It still wasn't enough, and you tried to press yourself even closer, but there were too many damn clothes between the two of you.

His teeth were currently nipping at your cleavage, and with the tiny part of your brain that was still functioning, you recognized that it was likely he was going to leave a mark. Instead of bringing you back to reality, the thought caused you to mewl and arch against him invitingly. He got the hint, because the hand at your neck slide downwards, coasting over the heaving flesh of your chest and down the front of your shirt. He fingered at the front of your jeans before dipping beneath the top of the waistband. You gasped and closed your eyes at the feel of leather-coated fingertips sliding down over the front of your mound. The fabric felt cool and erotic as his fingers slid through the delicate curls between your legs, heading for the soft flesh and delicate lips below.

Every muscle in your body was taut, straining towards him in encouragement. You _knew_ that you were going to lose it once he got his fingers inside you. Hell, you were pretty certain you could come right now with just his palm lightly cupping you. And the fact that he was still wearing his gloves made the moment feel just naughty and taboo enough to ramp up the desire that was flooding through your veins like liquid fire.

"Negan," you begged this time.

He lifted his face from your chest, and his hazy, lustful gaze met yours, dark and cloudy as a storm at midnight. "Tell me what you want, doll," he rasped, brushing his mouth over your own before licking at your bottom lip seductively.

"I…I..," you stammered, mewling in frustration that he wouldn't just _do it_.

He smirked against your lips before moving his mouth to your ear, that voice of the devil masquerading as an angel sending tingles down your spine as he took your lobe between his teeth and whispered, "Tell me, doll. Just tell me, and I swear I'll fucking do it."

You opened your mouth, ready to beg, plead, and promise him anything. Willing to do whatever it took, so long as he moved his fingers and thrust those long, thick digits inside the place between your thighs. The place that currently felt barren and was weeping for fulfillment…fulfillment that only he could give.

"I want…" you began, only to be interrupted by a loud cough to your left.

Whipping your head in the direction of the sound, you felt the liquid arousal in your veins run cold at the sight of Dwight standing not even 10 feet away, his face flushed with exertion and embarrassment as he stared pointedly at the ground in front of him.

Feeling as if you were coming out of a trance, you realized the picture you must make: panting with arousal, your legs spread and wrapped around Negan, while he stood wedged between your thighs with his hand down the front of your jeans. Blushing in mortification, you looked up at Negan in time to see his expression go from hazy with desire to stiff with irritation and anger.

Unwinding your thighs from his hips, he let you slide down the front of his body so that your feet were firmly planted back on the ground. Taking a step back, Negan reached down and adjusted his pants where the denim strained over his erection, causing your blush to reach epic proportions. He then ran a hand down the front of his beard as if to mentally compose himself before turning to Dwight and growling, "What in the holy fucking mother of fuck are you fucking doing here?"

Dwight looked like a caught rabbit, eyes darting everywhere but directly at you. He had to clear his throat twice before he was able to rasp out, "T-there's an emergency back at camp. S-Seth told me to come get you…"

Giving a string of curses that would've made a nun instantly drop dead, Negan reached over and picked Lucille up off the top of the bush. Glancing over at you, he gave you a quick up and down scan before asking, "You alright?"

 _No, I'm not fucking alright! I'm standing here with a Guinness world record level of blue clit, I think my panties are carrying enough liquid to quench the Sahara, and now I'm expected to act as if this is just our usual 'walk in the park' type of situation._

"Yea, I'm good," you reassured him, deciding that answer was safer than the truth.

He stared into your eyes for a few seconds, as if trying to see through the sugar-coated answer, before nodding and turning to Dwight.

"I hope to fucking Christ, our almighty fucking savior, that this is the mother fucking Titanic of all emergencies, else your next mission is going to be preheating my fucking iron so I can give you and ol' Seth a round of my special 2-for-1 facial treatments."

Dwight's face instantly went from bright red to ghost pale, and his mouth gaped open and shut like a fish out of water. It was too late for him to plead his case, since Negan had already started walking back towards the compound. Before he got too far away, he barked back over his shoulder, "Help her take the fucking bin back to camp, and be fucking prompt about it."

A few seconds later, and Negan's broad back had disappeared from sight. The silence he left behind was deafening. Now it was just you, Dwight, the bin of berries, and the notion that this was going to be the longest and most agonizing walk back to camp that either one of you had ever experienced.


	29. Hot Coals

After standing and avoiding looking at each other for a few long moments, you turned away from Dwight and walked over to pick Ricardo up off the ground. Going to the bin of berries, you secured the lid on top; Dwight was still standing there awkwardly when you broke the silence.

"Well, you gonna help me carry this, or what?"

Nodding, he came over and grabbed one end of the bin while you held the other. Together, the two of you started off through the woods and back towards the compound. There was more awkward silence, neither one of you wanting to even look at the other as you maneuvered around trees and over fallen logs, the bin acting as an unwelcome link that kept you from rushing ahead and away from him.

After a few minutes, Dwight casually joked, "So, should I start calling you wife number 6?"

Whether he was doing it to try and break the tension, or because he really found the situation humorous, you didn't know. Either way, his words caused your hackles to instantly rise, and you turned to look at his profile sternly while deadpanning, "No, and if I do ever hear you call me that, or breathe a word about it to anyone else, I'll make sure you regret it."

Glancing over at your words, Dwight responded, "Christ, it was just a joke. Besides, you think people aren't going to eventually find out? Fucking around isn't exactly something you can keep secret around here."

"Kinda like how you and Trixie are trying to keep your own fucking around a secret?" you fired back, feeling some satisfaction as his face seemed to pale even further.

"How did you…" he began.

"Doesn't matter how I know," you interrupted. "But just so we're clear, if you say _anything_ to anyone about what you saw today, not only will I tell Negan that it was you who let me out of the compound in the past…I'll also tell everyone about you and Trixie. I can't imagine people would take too kindly to you fucking around with a 19 year old. Would look a bit creepy to some, might even give you a negative reputation. That would be a shame, don't you think?"

You knew the words were cruel, but fear of him telling someone about you and Negan squashed any guilt you felt. Hell, what if he told _Trixie_? It would be all through the compound within the hour if she found out. No, you couldn't risk that, so you'd say whatever it took to shut Dwight up.

Dwight looked over and caught your gaze, his eyes narrowed and mouth set into a thin line. "You're a real bitch."

Smiling humorlessly at him, you boasted, "Damn right I am. And don't you forget it."

You were both silent for the rest of the trip, the only noises were twigs snapping under your feet, birds chirping, and small critters darting here and there through the brush. It wasn't a companionable silence, like when you and Negan had returned from the outing yesterday. No, any potential friendship you and Dwight might've formed had been destroyed with threats of blackmail. Which was a shame…but also not, because more friends meant more people to worry and care about. And that was the last thing you needed on your plate right now.

The Sanctuary was finally becoming visible through the trees, and you felt a mixture of relief and dread at the sight. Once you got inside and deposited the berries in the kitchen, you could be free of Dwight, hence the relief. However, you then had to deal with your own emotions about this morning, and in all honesty, you had no clue what the hell those emotions even were.

Walking through the gate and to the front door of the compound, you both entered the building. Nodding down the hall that led to the kitchen, you started in that direction. Dwight followed your lead, even though part of him probably wished he could just say _adios_ at this point, since he had completed his order to bring the bin back to the compound. However, he sighed and continued gripping the bin until you finally reached the kitchen.

Ben was in the middle of ladling oatmeal into the last round of oatmeal bowls when you arrived. Surprised, you glanced down at the watch on your wrist. 7:54am. Holy shit, you hadn't even been out in the woods for a full hour. It had felt like so much longer, perhaps because of everything that had occurred. The berry picking, the flirting with Negan, him licking your hand and…

"Morning, boss. Morning, Dwight," Ben greeted, interrupting your internal monologue.

"Morning," you grumbled back, trying and failing to show a bright and positive affect. Ben didn't seem to notice, as his eyes were now fixed on the bin that you and Dwight had just set on the floor.

Dwight glanced at you, as if in confirmation. Nodding, you gave a quiet, "thanks," as he turned and walked out of the kitchen. You turned back to Ben, who had finished filling the oatmeal bowls and given the tray to one of the two breakfast servers helping him out this morning. He moved the big, oatmeal-incrusted pot to the sink before walking across the tiles towards the bin. You gave a second attempt at twisting your face into some semblance of a smile, and hoped this one was more successful.

"Are these what I think they are?" Ben asked excitedly, bending down to pop off the lid and look inside.

"Yep, looks like we'll be making our second round of hawthorn dessert tonight," you stated. Your smile became less forced at the contagious expression of glee on Ben's face. If there was one person who could help turn your negative mood around, it was Ben. His boyish charm and easily excitable personality was infectious, even if all you wanted to do right now was be by yourself and over analyze everything that had happened in the last hour.

"What should we make?" Ben questioned, looking down at the berries thoughtfully. You could practically hear the buzz of gears whirring as he brainstormed potential dessert ideas.

"I was thinking maybe we could try some pies? What do you think?"

Ben grinned widely. "Pies sound perfect! We should have enough dough thawed in the fridge to make at least ten…maybe even a dozen. If there's any extra berries, we could probably make some jam out of them."

"Perfect," you replied with a smile.

Thinking back over the last time you had used the hawthorn berries, you remembered what a pain in the ass it had been to get all the blasted seeds out of each one, while still trying to salvage as much of the actual fruit as possible. You hadn't expected it to take that long, and so had only grabbed three helpers from their tasks. What a mistake that had been, seeing as how it had taken nearly two goddamn hours for the four of you to go through the entire bin of berries.

Ben appeared to be thinking the same thing, because he inquired, "Should we get a few people down here early to help us deseed them?"

There were currently 14 people on your kitchen staff, not counting yourself and Ben, and they each got one day off each week, so there were usually about a dozen of them in the kitchen each night working on dinner. They also took turns doing double shifts to help with breakfast, two of them helping Ben with the oatmeal each morning before having to come back later in the afternoon to help again with dinner. Ben and you were the only two who worked 7 days a week, even though you had tried repeatedly to give Ben days off, to no avail.

Doing the mental math and looking down at your watch while doing so, you replied, "Think we could get half of the scheduled dinner workers to come down about an hour early to help out?"

Grinning, Ben joked, "For you, I'm pretty sure each and every one of them would come down early and help, including the two on breakfast duty."

Lowering your brows, you snorted and said, "Ha, right. I'm sure they'd all be thrilled to jump at the chance to start work early."

Ben's lips tilted slightly upwards on one side, giving him an adorable lop-sided grin as he speculated, "You really don't see it, do you?"

"See what?" you asked.

Sighing, he shook his head and reached down for the bin, grabbing one end and dragging it over the nearest empty table before hoisting it up onto the bare surface with a grunt. Turning back to you, he answered, "I'm pretty sure that every single one would walk over burning coals, if you asked it of them."

You gave a snort, but stopped when you saw that Ben was 100% serious. "I'm their boss, not their messiah," you joked warily.

"Why can't you be both?" he questioned. There was a small grin on his face, but you didn't think he was joking.

Thankfully, you were saved from having to answer when the two breakfast servers walked back into the kitchen, both carrying trays piled with dirty, empty oatmeal bowls. Ben walked over to the sink and started filling it with soap and water as the servers delicately transferred the piles of bowls from the trays onto the counter beside the sink. Ben tossed over his shoulder, "I'll ask the staff who's willing to come down an hour early. Ten points says there's at least nine of 'em down here ready to help when you arrive."

Smiling, you shook your head and challenged, "You're on. No cheating, though. Tell them it's not mandatory, just appreciated."

Turning to the two breakfast servers, Ben asked them if they would be willing to come down an hour early to help you pick the seeds out of the bin of berries. Expecting them to look reluctant or flat out say no, you were surprised when they immediately nodded, looking over at you with twin smiles and a chorus of, "Sure!"

Ben threw an 'I told ya so' grin in your direction before you turned and walked out of the kitchen.

OOOOOOO

A few hours later and you were waking up to the sound of the watch alarm, which was set for 12:30pm. Reaching over, you sleepily grabbed the watch off the nightstand and deactivated the alarm before sitting up in bed and buckling it around your wrist. After leaving the kitchen this morning, you had showered, returned to your room, and over analyzed every detail of what had happened in the woods this morning. You had already finished _The Scarlet Letter_ , and so had tried to distract the intrusive thoughts by continuing to look through the magazine you had bought at commissary yesterday. Focusing on the pages had been impossible when images kept flashing through your head of Negan's mouth wrapped around your fingers, his tongue on your cleavage, and his erection between your thighs. Giving up, you had laid down on the bed and eventually fallen asleep, which was now the only way to give your brain a rest from the constant exhausting loop of mental images.

You had no idea how you were to act around Negan now; just the thought of seeing him again made your cheeks feel flush. It was getting more and more difficult to act unaffected around him, and if you weren't careful, others were going to start noticing. Hell, some of them had already noticed. Trixie suspected something was going on, Maria _knew_ something was going on after realizing you had been in his bedroom. Even Ben had started acting skeptical and protective of you when Negan was around. And Dwight…well, Dwight had all the evidence needed to know that you and Negan were indeed more than just a leader and his top chef employee.

The hysterical thought hit that the situation reminded you of one of your favorite shows pre-apocalypse: _Scandal_. The main female character on the show was a badass bitch, Olivia Pope, who ran a crew of employees that called themselves, "gladiators in suits". Olivia was intelligent, respected, and didn't take shit from anyone. However, her dirty little secret was that she was sleeping with the President of the United States…who was married...and not to her. The parallels between the show and your current situation would've been humorous…if you weren't the one who was also sneaking around as mistress to the apocalyptic equivalent of the president. Although technically, didn't you have to be having actual sex with someone in order to be classified as their mistress? And did it really count when the guy had a harem of wives? _Also, let's be real, you're not quite as badass as Olivia. Running a group of kitchen workers isn't quite the same as running a group of gladiators who clean up the messes of idiotic politicians._

Getting off the bed, you pulled on your jeans and sneakers before walking over to the mirror to redo your bun, which had become loose and floppy during your nap. You had put the green t-shirt back on, since it was still mostly clean after only being worn this morning. However, after finishing with the bun, you quickly realized that wearing this shirt again would be a mistake.

Why? Well, because you had not one, but _two_ hickies on your cleavage.

Gasping, you looked down; your chin tucked clear into your neck so that you could closely examine the two red marks, one on top of each tit. You thought back to when Negan's face had been in your chest, and how you had known he was going to leave marks, but hadn't given a fuck at the time since you had been too far gone with lust. Now that said lust was pushed back down, and you were able to think clearly, you waited for the rush of embarrassment and shame to hit.

But it didn't.

Instead, you felt turned on looking at the marks. And a strange, primal part of you almost _enjoyed_ the visible evidence of what had happened out in the woods. The difference in reaction from the first time you had found one of Negan's marks upon your flesh was astounding, as well as terrifying. You had never been a huge fan of hickies in the past; they always reminded you of immature teens who felt the need to showcase their relationship with the trashy little bruises for all to see. So why the hell did the thought of being marked by Negan feel so mature, so sexy, so _right_?

Forcing yourself to look away from the marks, you pulled the shirt up over your head and replaced it with the soft pink one that had an outline of a grey dove on the front. The rounded neckline of this one was much higher than the green t-shirt, barely coming down past your collar bones. With the marks covered up, you felt a small flash of disappointment, as well as a hint of mischievousness, as if you were hiding some naughty secret. Which, technically, you were.

Giving yourself a devious grin in the mirror, you left the room and started downstairs towards the kitchen. A glance down at the watch confirmed that it was 1:06pm. You wondered how many staff members had agreed to come early and help with the berries. Despite Ben's comments about the staff's undying loyalty to you, you still were certain he was exaggerating. While you had never been much of a follower, it was also hard to see yourself as a leader, especially in times like this. Besides, you were just head of the kitchen. It's not like you were one of Negan's Saviors, or head of the compound itself. Head chef wasn't exactly a title that one associated with having followers.

However, you had to reevaluate that last thought when you entered the kitchen and saw 11 staff members, all of the ones who were assigned to dinner today, standing around a large square island countertop. The bin of berries was open, and they all had small piles of the fruit in front of them. Each individual was focused on digging out the seeds to put in one trash pile and throwing the salvaged fruit into one of the few big mixing bowls that were stationed around the countertop. They looked up in unison when you entered, the ones with their backs to you turning around in greeting. A few smiled, a few waved, and they all had welcoming expressions on their face. Not one of them seemed annoyed with being there early. Ben was standing at one corner of the countertop, and he grinned at you while holding up all 10 fingers and mouthing, "I win," to remind you of the point bet.

You saw that Trixie wasn't at the table, and at first figured that she would unsurprisingly be the only one to turn down an opportunity to do some extra work. However, you quickly remembered that today was her day off, so it was likely Ben hadn't asked her or the other two people, who were given today off, to come help. Walking up to the group, you saw that they had must've just recently started working on the berries, since the mixing bowls only had a small layer of deseeded fruit on the bottom. The staff all automatically shifted to make a space for you at the counter, one person shoving a mixing bowl closer to you while the woman to your left grabbed a few handfuls of berries from the bin and set them down in front of you. Ben grabbed another small paring knife from a drawer and pushed it across the counter in your direction with a grin.

For some reason, you felt tears sting the back of your eyes. It might sound stupid to anyone else, but walking into the kitchen and seeing all those happy faces, as well as how quick they were to welcome you to the group, was the closest you'd felt to having a family since the apocalypse began. These people had no reason to treat you as anything other than their boss, and they had no reason to want to come help outside their scheduled times. And yet, here they all were, looking at you as if you were the matriarch to their little society. Unlike this morning, it took no extra effort to put a happy smile on your face. You looked around the counter at them, making sure to make direct eye contact with each individual person, before saying, "Let's make the most kickass pies these people have ever tasted."

The response was a chorus of laughs, nods, and a thumbs up from Ben.

OOOOOOO

The task of deseeding the berries was incredibly quick with the whole staff working together. The whole bin was completed within 40 minutes, and the process had actually been fun. It wasn't typical for the entire staff to focus on one task like this, so it helped build morale to chat and joke while working. The conversation had taken a serious turn when Andrew, a young man in his early 20s with shoulder-length black hair and mocha colored eyes, brought up the topic of what you quickly realized was the "emergency" Negan had been called out of the woods for earlier.

Andrew discussed how his roommate, who helped with repairs around the compound, had been called out to look at an area of the fences this morning. Apparently, one of the men Negan had put on outpost duty had fallen asleep while his partner took his scheduled breakfast break. While he was asleep, a decently-sized herd of walkers had stumbled up to the back corner of the fences near where the gardens were located. The man on outpost duty hadn't awoken until one of the women tending the garden had started screaming at the sight of almost two dozen animated corpses trying to reach her through the fences. The screams had led to more shouts and panic among the other compound members outside, which had led to more walkers coming through the trees towards the sound. By the time Negan's Saviors had gathered and gone out as a group to fend off the walkers, there were over 30 of them clustered at the one section of fence. Thankfully, the fence hadn't been too badly damaged, according to Andrew's roommate, and the walkers were all successfully killed without anyone getting bit or hurt.

"But man, I feel bad for the poor guy who fell asleep," Andrew finished. "I heard Negan was super pissed. I wouldn't trade places with that guy for all the points in the world right now."

A few people had chimed in with their own thoughts about the situation, but you weren't really paying attention at that point. You were too busy thinking about Negan, and wondering what would happen to the guy who had fallen asleep. On a regular day, Negan wouldn't be happy about someone falling asleep, but today he had also been interrupted when only seconds away from hearing you beg him to fuck you, this time without alcohol fueling the decision. At the time, you had been beyond frustrated by the interruption, but looking back now, you were almost glad for it. Up against a tree in the middle of the woods, where anyone (or any walker) could stumble across the two of you, didn't exactly make for a great setting to have sex with someone for the first time. However, you doubted Negan saw it that way, and chances were he was livid that he had been interrupted when so close to achieving what he had been working to get from you for the past month now.

Refocusing on dinner, you started assigning tasks to each staff member now that the berries were all deseeded. Half of the staff was set to work preparing the rice and veggie dish that would be the main course, while the other half got started mixing the filling and rolling out the dough for the pies. You tried your best not to think of Negan while cooking, but found your mind drifting multiple times. Your hand subconsciously lifted to press against the spot through your shirt where the two hickies marked your flesh, as if they were Negan's own personal brand.

OOOOOOO

At exactly 6:42pm, the evening went from smooth and positive to tense and panicky.

Dinner had worked out perfectly. Ben had scrounged up enough dough to make eleven hawthorn pies, which was just enough to serve everyone in the cafeteria a small slice of the sweet dessert. There were even some extra berries, as Ben had predicted, and so he and two other staff members broke off to complete their own task of making a jam to preserve in a few jars.

You had kept one of the pies separate from the rest, telling the staff that it wasn't to be given to the diners, no matter how much any of them begged for a second slice. The staff had been thrilled when you informed them that the extra pie was for them to eat when the dinner shift was over. After they had all been willing to come help out early, you weren't letting any of them go without at least getting a tiny slice of the pie themselves.

However, this plan was cut short. The last round of dessert had been served to the patrons, who were all thrilled with the pie, and the atmosphere of the kitchen was energetic and full of good humor. At least, it was until Negan walked in.

You didn't know he had entered the cafeteria at first, although you did notice that the noise level in the cafeteria went from near deafening to so quiet, one could hear a pin drop. Confused, you walked to the door separating the kitchen from the cafeteria and swung it open, the other staff members crowding up behind you so that they could also see what was going on.

Everyone was sitting quietly at their tables with heads bowed and eyes directed at the floor as Negan stood in the entryway. Glancing around the room, he looked up and made eye contact with you before glancing away and announcing, "Now that I've got all of your fucking attention: there's a mandatory fucking meeting in The Great Hall in ten minutes. You all are going to want fucking front row tickets, because this is going to be one fucking hell of a show."

With that, he turned and exited the kitchen. The diners all looked nervously at one another before they slowly started getting up and filing out of the kitchen as well.

"Well shit," you heard Ben say directly behind you.

From a little further back, came Andrew's voice. "Man, I told you this was going to be bad."

Turning to the staff, you were somehow able to keep the quiver out of your voice and calmly say, "Everyone quickly finish whatever you were doing and meet me at the cafeteria exit. We're all going together as a group."

The nervous faces peering back at you seemed to slightly relax at your words, and they all nodded before scrambling to finish putting the lids on the jars of jam, piling the dirty dishes in the sink, and double checking to make sure that all of the stoves and ovens were turned off.

Ben was still standing beside you, and the two of you watched together as the staff hurried to finish their tasks. He huffed out a sigh before reaching over and giving your shoulder a gentle squeeze with his hand. "Hot coals, boss," he murmured. "Hot coals."


	30. The Punishment

You and Ben led the group of kitchen staff into The Great Hall right before Negan's 10 minute warning was up. Since you were one of the last individuals to enter, the room was already teeming with compound members, leaving you with little choice but to stand near the back of the crowd and close to the exit. However, you didn't have to worry about missing any part of the "show" thanks to the setup of the large room.

The space was nondescript with its lack of any furniture or decoration. This was a room where only serious business and announcements were discussed, so it felt more cold and sterile than warm and inviting. There were hushed whispers echoing off the walls as people discussed their hypotheses about why the meeting had been called. You had a feeling that you already knew, and that it had something to do with the man who had fallen asleep earlier while on outpost duty.

Looking upwards, you focused on the main feature of the room: the large, metal catwalk that extended the entire way across the far side of the room. It was from that high perch that Negan typically delivered his announcements and, you guessed, his punishments. The catwalk was currently occupied by Negan's Saviors, who all (except the ones probably still outside on guard duty) stood in a line across the length of the metal platform. Each one had their arms crossed menacingly and a serious expression on their face. You immediately noticed that Dwight was missing from the lineup. Scanning the sea of compound members, you caught a glimpse of Trixie's bouncy ponytail up near the front of the crowd, which ruled out the possibility of her and Dwight being off on some secret tryst. Perhaps he was one of the guards who had instead been left outside to watch the fences.

Negan was not yet present, and you felt nervous butterflies enter your stomach in anticipation. During the two months you had been living here, there had only been one other public punishment. It had occurred a few days after your arrival, and the announcement for this punishment had also been sent out near the end of the dinner rush. However, it had been Negan's Saviors who came to make the announcement, and they hadn't said that it was mandatory for everyone to attend, just "strongly encouraged". Since you had still been at the bottom of the kitchen totem pole (aka on dishwasher duty), Ben had told you and another young woman to stay behind and finish cleaning up. You hadn't minded, especially when later informed that Negan had given someone the hot iron treatment, which was sure to be an unpleasant sight.

There had also been the instance about a month ago when Negan had Lucilled one of Rick's men, but that hadn't been a public execution. Sure, a lot of Negan's men had been present, according to Dwight, but it had happened out in the woods, not here in The Sanctuary. You realized that you were probably one of the few individuals here, except those newer to the compound, who hadn't seen Negan dole out a punishment.

Course, if you _had_ seen him put a hot iron to someone's face after first arriving here, chances were you never would've risked leaving the compound to go scamper around in the woods. Also, if you had been able to witness Negan's cruelty firsthand, the last time he had doled out a punishment, it was likely that you wouldn't have made the same decisions that led to him finding you that day out in the woods. Which also meant that you wouldn't have then interacted with him in his private rooms, or kick started the domino effect of events necessary to end up in this morning's situation: pushed up against a tree with his hand down your pants. _So, do you resent not being able to watch the last punishment?_ your subconscious inquired.

It only took a couple seconds of pondering this question before you knew that the answer was a solid 'no'. Despite the roller coaster ride of emotions that you had been on these last few weeks, you were only slightly surprised to realize that you didn't regret any of it. And, if given the choice, you wouldn't go back to the beginning and do things differently. It felt as if you were _supposed_ to meet him in the woods that day. And it also felt as if everything leading up until now had been preordained…like fate in a way…God, that sounded so cheesy. You almost wanted to gag at your own thought process.

Thankfully, you were torn away from Cheeseville when a hush fell over the crowd. Looking upward, you saw Negan step out from the shadows and slowly cross the catwalk. His entrance held everyone captivated, as if he were the lead actor of a play taking center stage. He stopped in the middle of the catwalk, with his Saviors standing behind him like a wall of bodyguards.

He scanned the crowd, as if a king before his subjects, as a wide grin stretched across his face. "Well, are we ready for the fucking show to begin?"

When his only answer was a nervous silence, he chuckled and said, "Well, god damn. I can see you're going to be a hard fucking audience to impress. But don't worry, impress you I most certainly fucking shall."

Pacing back and forth across the catwalk while twirling Lucille on his shoulder, Negan continued. "Last time I checked, each of you fuckers has a job to do around this compound. Is that correct?"

Again the nervous silence.

Annoyed, Negan bellowed, "I said is that fucking correct?!"

The crowd gave a startled chorus of, "Yes!" and you could feel the kitchen staff press in closer around you. Reaching back, you patted the arm of whoever was standing directly behind you in reassurance, though you didn't dare remove your gaze from the "show".

Grinning, Negan nodded. "Fucking right it's correct. Now, I also believe that people are expected to dotheir fucking jobs properly, without fucking shit up. Is that also correct?"

This time, there was no hesitation, and the crowd parroted an affirmative. Though you stayed silent, your head still nodded at his words. Negan seemed satisfied at the response this time, since he gave a smirk and continued his pacing back and forth across his metal throne.

"I'm glad you all fucking understand. Unfortunately, we had a fucker who _didn't_ understand this concept. Not only did he fall asleep on the job, but he fucked shit up for my Saviors, who had to clean up his god damn mess like a bunch of fucking housemaids."

You swore a few of the Saviors twitched unhappily at the comparison to being called a housemaid, but it was possible that the lights were just playing tricks on you.

"So," Negan drawled, finally stopping his pacing and turning to face the crowd. "I want to make sure that the rules are fucking crystal clear, and that no one gets fucking confused and thinks that this kind of shit is acceptable. Therefore, I'm going to give all of you a refresher course in what the fuck happens when you fuck up your responsibilities."

At this, Negan nodded to his left. Two of the Saviors at the end of the line walked offstage, before returning with the man who you assumed had fallen asleep at the outpost this morning. One of the Saviors was carrying a wooden chair, while the other Savior was roughly shoving the poor man across the catwalk. The chair was placed beside Negan, in the center of the catwalk for all to see, before the man was shoved down onto it. He had short dark hair and looked like he might be in his early 30s. However, his face was currently showcasing so much terror that he looked much younger and almost childlike.

Looking down at the man sternly, all trace of a grin wiped from his face, Negan demanded, "The fuck's your name? I'd like to know the name of the fucker who thought it would be just fucking peachy to fall asleep while on duty."

The man's mouth opened and shut like a gaping fish as he attempted and failed multiple times to speak. He finally sputtered, "H-H-Harry."

Negan's lips twitched, as if he found the man's answer amusing. "This is just way too fucking good. The only way this could be any fucking better was if your name was Lloyd. So tell me, Harry, which one are you? Fucking dumb or fucking dumber?"

Harry looked up at Negan with so much fear and confusion that you really felt sorry for the guy. He was too busy being scared shitless about whatever it was that Negan was going to do, so couldn't make the connection with Negan's joke. It was like a spider playing with a fly caught in its web. The fly knew it was doomed, and was struggling helplessly, while the spider drew slowly closer.

"I guess it doesn't even fucking matter, does it?" Negan continued. "The point is that you were incredibly. Fucking. _Dumb_! Know what happens to dumb mother fuckers?" At that, Negan swung Lucille down off his shoulder and pointed her in Harry's face, which had gone ghost pale. In fact, you were pretty sure he was battling really hard not to pass out.

"Now normally, someone does something so fucking stupid as to put the compound in fucking danger like that, I'd give 'em a kiss from ol' Lucille here. Ain't she beautiful? Yea, she is. She's fucking awesome."

Harry's eyes were fixated on Lucille as she bobbed in front of his face, and twin tracks of tears were steadily rolling down his cheeks. You found that you were holding your breath, unable to tear your gaze away from the scene that was playing out in front of you. Surely he wouldn't kill the man for falling asleep? Perhaps he was just going to give him a good scare, make him piss his pants in fear, and then let him go? _Ha, right. Because Negan is such a big fluffy teddy bear,_ your subconscious mocked.

Swinging Lucille back and forth in front of the man, Negan casually spoke. "Now, I like to think that I'm an understanding fuck of a guy. I know shit happens. You're up late playing cards with your buddies, or fucking your woman six ways from Sunday all night, and you don't get the proper amount of sleep needed. Is that what happened, Harry? Were you porking your woman real fucking good last night? I hope you made that bitch scream, and that it was fucking worth it."

Running his free hand slowly down the front of his beard, a grin curled Negan's lips upwards and he cocked his head while joking, "Forgive me, Harry. I fucking digress. Now where the fuck were we? Oh, right." He brought Lucille up so that the tip of her was inches away from Harry's lips. The compound was so quiet, that you could've heard a mouse sneeze.

"If anybody had gotten hurt because of your stupid mother fucking decision to fall the fuck asleep, you wouldn't even be talking to me right now. Know why? Because you'd be talking to _her_ instead." With this, he lightly tapped Harry's nose with the end of Lucille. You were incredibly impressed that Harry was able to keep still and not faint, vomit, or try to run screaming in the opposite direction.

"But-," Negan continued savagely, his voice rising, "-since my Saviors were able to clean up your mother fucking mess without any casualties, _and_ because I don't like fucking killing people unless absolutely necessary, I think maybe we can strike a deal, Harry. Seeing as how we need all the fucking hands to help around here that we can get…I'm thinking that maybe, just maybe, I can let a pathetic fuck like you live. What do you think?"

The man appeared to be begging, but his fear made it so that he must be practically whispering, since all you could see was his mouth moving, with no sound coming out.

Negan cupped a hand to his ear and leaned in close to the man, saying, "Speak the fuck up, Harry. Shit, Lucille talks fucking louder than you."

This time you could faintly hear the man as he sobbed, "P-Please don't k-k-kill m-me."

Finally removing Lucille from the man's face, Negan announced, "Well, since you asked so fucking nicely, I think we can go with plan B."

At this, Negan motioned to his left, as if giving someone a signal. On cue, you saw Dwight come jogging across the catwalk holding a clothes iron, which he must've been heating up at a nearby outlet offstage during Negan's speech.

Negan took the hot iron from Dwight and turned to the man, who had gone silent. He was so scared that even from this distance you could see him trembling, his eyes huge with terror as he looked at the iron.

Without any preamble, probably so that he didn't lose any of the heat from the iron now that it was unplugged, Negan cupped one powerful, gloved hand over the man's right ear and cheek to hold him steady. With his other hand, he brought the iron down, swift and sure, onto the front left side of the man's face. It happened so fast that all you could do was gasp and throw your hand up to cover your mouth. Your stomach dropped at the high-pitched scream that came out of Harry's throat, steam rising from his face as the iron did its damage.

However, the iron burning the man's flesh wasn't what upset you the most.

Looking at Negan's face, you felt bile rise in your throat at the way his lips were stretched into a snarling grin of pure, sadistic pleasure. This wasn't the Negan who had gently changed the band aid on your finger over a week ago. And this definitely wasn't the Negan whose eyes had sparkled in mirth as he teased and flirted with you over a game of chess. No, this Negan was a stranger to you. A terrifying, cruel stranger that bared no resemblance to the man who had passionately kissed you in the woods just that very morning. This Negan was brutal, heartless, and, Jesus Christ, he actually appeared to be _enjoying_ this.

The iron had only been on the man's face for a few seconds, but it felt like an eternity as you stared transfixed at Negan. When he finally lifted the iron, you saw the man's face try to come off with it, like melted cheese. Chunks of his cheek and forehead clung to the scorching metal, and his scream had died down to heaving sobs of pain.

So, this was what Negan considered fair punishment for breaking one of his rules. The thought entered your head: _what if he had done the same thing to you after he found you sneaking around the woods? Or after you had kissed him that first time? It could've very easily been you up on that chair in excruciating pain, with half your face burned into a melted, horrific mess._

Spots appeared in front of your eyes, blocking your vision, and a buzzing started in your ears. You needed to get out of here. It felt as if you couldn't breathe, couldn't take in enough air…as if the walls were closing in. Turning, you almost ran into Ben, who was looking at you concern. Or at least, the portion of his face that you could see through the floating spots looked concerned.

"Boss? Are you alright? You don't look so hot…"

"Fine," you responded, your voice sounding as if it were coming from down a long tunnel. "I just need some air."

Gently grabbing your arm, Ben started steering you through the crowd and towards the exit, which was thankfully nearby. "Let's get you out of here," he hastened, shoving a path for you through the other individuals trying to make a beeline for the exit. You followed dumbly, focused only on maintaining your balance and not allowing the scream that was bubbling up in your throat to erupt.

When you had finally reached the exit and made it out into the hall, you felt the pressure in your chest loosen, but only by a fraction. You were still too trapped, too overwhelmed. Looking at Ben, you tried and failed to grin, reassuring him, "I'm alright. I just need to take a walk, clear my head."

He opened his mouth, and you instinctually knew that he was about to offer to come with you, so you quickly added, "You take everyone back to the kitchen. The pie is still there waiting for them. They deserve it now more than ever."

Before he could say anything in response, you turned and blended in with the crowd of individuals who were walking down the hall towards their rooms. You broke off at the staircase, instead taking the turns needed to reach the front door of the compound. Pushing open the heavy, creaky metal, you gulped in a mouthful of fresh, evening air. Only when the door slammed shut behind you, were your lungs finally able to fill up the entire way. And with every step away from the front door, the spots in your vision started to slowly fade. Turning the corner of the compound, you headed back towards the gardens, your only goal to get as far away from the scene inside as possible.

The sky was a swirled watercolor of pink, yellow, and orange. Long clouds were ushering in the night, as the sun sank low into the horizon. Standing there, watching the sunset, you couldn't help but compare your feelings now to your feelings this morning. So much had happened in one day…so many conflicting emotions. Your excitement and anticipation of seeing Negan had risen, bright and blinding this morning, like the rising sun. And now? Now you just wanted to climb into a safe cocoon of darkness and hide from the world, like the setting sun. But if you were the sun, then what was Negan? The sky who welcomed you each day...or the darkness who chased you away?

What was that popular saying? Something about how if you couldn't handle someone at their worst, then you didn't deserve them at their best? Well, you had just seen one of Negan's worst sides. _Now, the question is: can you handle it?_ your subconscious cautioned. Staring off into the distance, you realized that the answer wasn't so simple.

Because honestly? You had no mother fucking clue.


	31. The Confrontation

000 Author's Note: Thank you so much for all the views, favorites, follows, and comments! I really appreciate all my readers! However, I would like to ask one smalllll favor. Much as I love feedback (it's really the only "paycheck" I get for writing this story), it can be really disheartening when I see a sea of "update again soon!" or "please don't make us wait long for the next update!" in the comments. I know these comments aren't meant to be negative, but it's a little frustrating as a writer to see those. I put hours and hours into each chapter (brainstorming, outlining, writing, editing, etc.), and I'm doing all this for FREE and for YOU to all read my story. So please, be patient with me. Some updates will come faster or slower than others, and that's okay, because I, and all other writers, have lives and jobs and families to attend to. Also, I post a chapter as soon as I'm finished with it, and barely ever plan ahead, so I never even know what is going to happen in the next chapter, let alone how long it will take to write. So please, be all means, let me know how you felt about the chapter, or let me know that you're excited to see what happens next! But please, try to hold back on a comment that is just telling me to quickly post the next chapter. Thank you! 3 000

You had no idea how long you stood there in the garden, staring off at the slowly darkening sky. It must not have been too long, since there was still enough light to see clearly, although everything was tinted a soft pinkish-gold. Your mind had gone from whirling a thousand miles an hour to just grinding to a halt, as if unable to stand the flurry of thoughts any longer. Instead, you now felt empty, your mind a big blank slate of uncertainty. Gusts of the cooler evening air blew tendrils of hair loose from your bun as you stood between the rows of tomatoes and onions and watched the sun set.

That was how he found you.

You didn't hear him enter the gardens, and he didn't announce himself. However, you suddenly felt the hair on the back of your neck stand up, and you just _knew_. Not turning around, you continued to stare out past the fences at the horizon, the sun already mostly hidden by the tree line. A solid minute of silence came and went, and your anxiety rose with each passing second. Unable to continue the standoff for any longer, you took a deep breath, in an attempt to garner some courage, and slowly turned around.

He stood there between the rows of growing plants and ripening vegetables, and he looked so beautiful silhouetted in the softening daylight, that it caused a pang to erupt in your chest. In another dimension, one where the last hour hadn't occurred, you might have run up and thrown your arms around him. Might have even begged him to finish what he had started in the forest that morning.

But the last hour _had_ happened…and that changed everything.

Now, you felt frozen in place, unwilling to move physically closer to him. You felt a spark of anger burn in your gut at the realization that you were actually _afraid_ of him now. It didn't help that the lighting glinted off him in a way that made it difficult to clearly read his eyes from this distance. What would you find there, if you could see them? Did you want to know?

Negan finally broke the silence by saying, "I take it from your hasty fucking exit, and lack of applause, that you didn't enjoy the show."

It wasn't a question, and his tone was a bit flat, which made it hard to tell if he was attempting to make a joke, or was annoyed. Not in the mood for games, you shook your head from side to side and quietly responded, "No, I didn't."

"Well, that's a fucking shame, seeing as how I was pretty proud of my performance," Negan proclaimed, twirling Lucille over his shoulder and taking a few steps closer.

Unable to help it, you instinctually jumped back a step, as if you had been shocked. Negan abruptly stopped his own forward movement, brows furrowing in displeasure. "The fuck's wrong with you?" He chuckled before adding, "I meant to make everyone wanna piss their pants in there, but fuck, you'd swear I actually offed the pathetic bastard. Which, thinking back on it, maybe I should've. Fucking waste of space."

You were almost relieved to feel the anger in your stomach start to burn hotter, overpowering the fear. Anger was an emotion you could grasp onto, could wrap around you like a protective cloak. Lifting your chin and meeting his gaze, you dryly responded, "I'm surprised you didn't. I bet you would've enjoyed killing him even more than you did disfiguring him for life."

Narrowing his eyes, Negan's voice lost any trace of humor as he growled, "The fuck you accusing me of, doll? You think I like when people fuck up around here?"

Anger further fueling your courage, you snapped, "No, but you sure don't seem to mind fucking them up in front of everyone in retaliation."

Negan took another step closer, and you were proud that this time you didn't retreat. "Damn fucking right I retaliated. Only way to keep everyone the fuck in line is to lay down the law. Which means that if someone breaks one of my fucking rules, then they have to pay the fucking consequences. You got a problem with how I handle things around here? Well, too fucking bad."

Gritting your teeth, you accused, "And do you always get so much joy from doling out punishments?"

Raising his free hand in a shrug, his teeth flashed in the fading light as he taunted, "What, I'm not allowed to have some fun with it? You gotta admit, the whole iron thing is pretty fucking creative on my part. I never considered myself much of an artist, but looking at ol' Harry's face, it's possible that I'm more of a Picasso than I thought. And who knows, maybe one day he'll thank me. I'd say I actually improved his looks, the same way I did Dwight's. Scars are a total pussy magnet…just ask Trixie."

Your stomach flopped at the mental image of Harry's melted flesh peeling off, leaving half of his face jumbled and disfigured. If Dwight's face was any indication of Harry's future, he had a long, painful healing process ahead of him. And yet here Negan was, joking about the fact that he had just _deformed_ a man for taking a god damn nap. He was acting as if he didn't have one ounce of sympathy for the man's pain, which you prayed was incorrect. It was one thing to be a strict leader who made tough decisions…it was another thing to be a sociopath who had zero empathy for others.

You knew it was probably a low blow, but the words tumbled out before you fully thought them through, in hopes of getting a reaction.

"I suppose you think battle wounds are a pussy magnet as well, right? Is that how you comforted Ken when he was standing in front of you with walker bites in his neck and arm? Did you reassure him that he would be a total pussy magnet before putting a bullet in his brain?"

The thunderous look of rage on Negan's face, when you brought up Ken, caused a small shiver of fear to dart up your spine, but you ignored it. Anger was still winning the fight right now, and you were going along for the ride.

"What the _fuck_ does Ken have to do with any of this?!" he bellowed.

"So Harry makes a mistake, and you joke that maybe it should've cost him his life. But when Ken made a mistake, and it _did_ cost him his life, you didn't find it very funny. I'm just trying to figure out where you draw the line. Is it only enjoyable when _you_ get to decide if the mistake is worth a death sentence, rather than the walkers deciding for you? Or is it because you didn't have an audience out there in the woods, that the situation wasn't as humorous? Or maybe you were just pretending to be upset about Ken's death? I mean, some men would argue that a good sob story is also a pussy magnet…and it sure seemed to work well on me the other night."

"Doll, I swear to fucking Christ, if you don't shut the fuck up-"

"You'll what?" you interrupted, staring him dead in the eye.

Taking a few steps closer, Negan stopped right in front of you, his dark, shadowed presence looming over you menacingly. Glaring down at you, he growled, "If you don't shut your god damn fucking mouth, I will shut it for you."

"You are so fucking full of shit."

Every fiber of Negan's body seemed to freeze at the words, as if he were in total shock that you had dared speak to him in that way.

Looking up at him, your subconscious was screaming at you to listen to him and shut up. Even your brain was listing all the logical reasons why staying silent would be a good idea. However, your mouth wasn't in the mood to listen, and neither was your anger. Stepping even closer to him, so that you had to crane your neck back to meet his gaze, the words came tumbling out so harshly that you were practically spitting them. "You want to shut my mouth for me, go right on ahead. What's stopping you? The iron is probably still hot, so why let the heat go to waste?"

Your voice dropped menacingly as you challenged, "Obviously you're itching to press it up against my own flesh, seeing as how you've threatened me how many times now, and yet never seem to have the guts to follow through. Or maybe you'd rather give me a few whacks with Lucille? You could even do it in front of everybody, and tell them that I dared to speak my mind against you. That I dared to call you out as a lying piece of shit, so now you have to prove me wrong. I bet that would _really_ show everyone what a big boss man you are."

The hand holding Lucille twitched, and for a heart-stopping second, you thought he really might swing her down and use her. That perhaps you had finally pushed him past the point of no return, and he would follow through on his threats. At the very least, you braced for him to backhand you, or give your cheek a good pop with his fist.

Instead, he stepped forward until you were practically nose to nose. Or you would be, if he weren't so much taller than you. He was so close that his face swam out of focus, and his voice was so full of quiet rage that you felt surrounded and trapped by it, like a wild animal caught in a snare.

"And what if I did?" he growled. "Suppose I did decide to beat the holy hell out of you in front of the compound? Or perhaps mark up that pretty cheek with my fucking iron?" At this he ran a gloved finger along your cheek, which caused goosebumps of fear to break out all along your arms in response. "If I did decide to follow through, then what the _fuck_ are you gonna do about it?" he snarled, drops of spittle hitting your face as he bit out the words.

Looking up into his steel-cold gaze, you saw none of the usual warmth in his eyes. They were blank and emotionless, and that terrified you more than any words that had come out of his mouth. This man in front of you was the same man who had been up on the catwalk inside. If you had found his cruel, emotionless side intimidating from across a large room, well, it had nothing on experiencing it from a distance of inches.

Returning his deadpan gaze with your own, you realized something important in that moment. You realized that if he went through with his threats…if he _did_ hit you or physically abuse you in any way, that every ounce of goodwill and attraction you had felt towards him would disappear, and he would be forever irredeemable in your eyes.

Speaking the words slowly and strongly, you enunciated every single syllable, making sure that he didn't just hear you, but really _heard_ you. And your gaze never once flinched from his as you declared, "If you're going to do it, then it better be a death sentence. Because know this… if you ever so much as lay a hand on me, and I survive…I _will_ find a way to kill you."

The blankness in his gaze turned to burning fire as he thundered, "Did you just fucking threaten my life?"

"Didn't you just threaten mine?" you asserted coolly.

Before the storm that was rolling in his gaze exploded outwards, you decided to be honest and lay your cards on the table. Your subconscious and brain were both whispering that perhaps now wasn't the best time to do so, that he was too angry to really listen. But once again, you pushed aside logic, and instead let your emotions take charge.

"You might be able to act as if our conversations and time together mean nothing to you, and you might even be able to act as if what happened in the woods this morning didn't surprise you as much as it did me. But I'm _not_ going to let you act as if you can push me away by trying to bully me into subservience. In case you're unaware, know that I would _never_ turn against you unless given a really good reason. The same way that I'd like to hope you wouldn't turn on me or physically harm me unless given a really good reason. And me calling you out on your bullshit? Yea, that's not a good enough reason."

Not even focused on his reaction anymore, it felt as if you were finally purging some of your feelings, not just to Negan, but to the world in general. And damn, it actually felt kind of good to get this all off your chest.

You continued, "I won't let a man push me up against a tree and give me the hottest kiss of my entire life, to then have that same man turn around a few hours later and threaten me physical harm. That might fly with your wives, but I think we already established that I'm not, nor am I ever going to be, one of them. I demand respect, same as you do. You can speak and act however you want towards other compound members, but this" – you gestured vaguely in the small space between the two of you – "whatever this is, will not be continuing if we can't have mutual respect between us. The kind of respect that's built on a foundation of honesty and empathy, not fear and threats." Finally finished, you focused back on his face to see his reaction to your emotional word vomit.

He looked thunderous. And you realized, too late, that you should've just shut your damn mouth way back at the point where you accused him of being full of shit. Maybe then you could've gotten out of this confrontation unscathed. But the damage was done, and oh man, were you about to reap the consequences. He straightened his shoulders, and you swore he got even taller with the motion, dwarfing your much smaller frame like an angry wall of testosterone. His words were harsh and biting, and even if there was such a thing as emotional armor, you were pretty sure it would be no match for his cutting words.

"Let's get one mother fucking thing straight: I don't have to _act_ as if what happened in the woods this morning was unimportant, nor do I have to _act_ as if our conversations or time spent together mean nothing to me. Know why? Because they fucking _DON'T_ mean anything! You are a mother fucking puppet that I utilize for my own fucking entertainment, and that is _all_. And make note, _woman_ , if I hear so much as one more insubordinate word out of your mother fucking mouth, I will indeed make good on my threats. Not only will I see to it that you are punished in front of the whole fucking compound, just like that fucker inside, but that your job title gets completely stripped away, as well. Perhaps being demoted to scrubbing fucking toilets would help take your god damn ego down a couple notches, and show you how fucking unimportant you really are. As far as your claims of respect, I'd be glad to give you some fucking honesty. Last time I checked, _I_ run this fucking place, not you. Which means, you can show me some fucking respect, just like every other god damn person in this place does, or you can _honestly_ get. The. Fuck. OUT!"

You actually felt your face go pale at his words. You weren't sure which part was worse, him saying that you meant nothing to him, the threat to take away your job title, or the idea to kick you out of the compound. Working in the kitchen was the one thing that made you happy, besides your previous interactions with Negan, and he had successfully managed to destroy both of those happy places with a few choice words. And he would do it, too. Would take away your job, just because you had dared speak your mind to him, as an equal. You could see it in the set lines of his face that not one ounce of him was joking. Glancing at his eyes, the true windows to his emotions, you didn't see the usual flickering flames of anger he showcased in front of the others. Instead, his eyes were grey, swirling clouds of rage. What that rage actually signified, or what emotions were under it, you had no clue...and that was what worried you the most.

You felt the sting of hurt, rejection, and betrayal. Those three emotions all served to put out the fire of your anger more effectively than anything else could have. So, you didn't yell or curse or respond with any other kind of outburst that Negan might be expecting, and even hoping for. Instead, you calmly held his gaze and let him see all of the hurt and betrayal that was glimmering in your own eyes. Quietly, you stated, "If that's how you view me, then thank you for the clarification. I'm glad to finally know my place. As far as the kitchen, I would prefer to stay there, but if you see it fit to move me, then that is fine. Or if you would prefer I leave the compound completely, just say the word. I can have my bags packed within the hour, if needed."

You saw the tiniest flicker of uncertainty enter his eyes, as if he was thrown off by your abrupt switch from fiery and argumentative to quiet and submissive. But you felt utterly defeated and exhausted from his words, and all will to fight back had vanished. It was as if any and all progress that had been carefully made with him over the past month was gone as effectively as a lit match being put to a strand of hair. And underneath it all, hurt swam through you in painful waves that made your chest clench and your eyes burn. His words scorched you way more than any iron, and you suddenly needed to leave the gardens, needed to get out of his sight, before you did something really fucking stupid, like cry.

As if the thought brought about the response, you felt your eyes start to water, but blinked furiously in an attempt to counteract it. However, one stupid, god damn tear broke free, making the trek halfway down your cheek before you angrily swiped at it with the back of your arm.

Negan was staring down at you, motionless. His eyes were still that same wall of emotionless steel and swirling anger, and you couldn't stand to look at him any longer. Turning around, not even caring if he hadn't properly dismissed you yet, you put your back to him and started walking away, mentally willing yourself not to stumble or shake or showcase any other weakness.

While your brain was withdrawn and strangely silent, your subconscious was down on its knees with hands clasped together, praying that Negan would stop you. That he would call out your name and say something, _anything_ ,to take back his earlier words. When he instead stayed silent, your subconscious waited until you made it to the front door of the compound before it collapsed into a heap on the floor, and stayed there.


	32. The Aftermath

You moved around the kitchen, as if on autopilot, chopping up vegetables here and stirring pots of boiling water there. Your body knew what to do, what to grab and how to grip the knife, how to hold the spoon and make a circular stirring motion. The physical motions were happening, but your mind…your mind was elsewhere. Your thoughts were like an old record stuck on a playback loop, the events of the last week repeating over and over in your brain.

It had been six days since the confrontation out in the garden, but it felt as though it had happened just yesterday. You had barely made it back to your room that night before the waterworks started. Shutting the door, you had collapsed against it, great heavy sobs wracking your body as you slid down the wood and joined your subconscious in a heap on the floor. You hadn't even been able to convince yourself that what Negan had said didn't matter, because you knew that would be a big, fat lie. His words had sliced through you like knives, and the burning wounds were deep, hurting so badly that you had cried for hours before finally crawling into bed and falling asleep…only to wake up puffy-eyed and feeling no better the next morning. It had been all you could do to drag yourself out of bed that next day. And it had taken all of your energy to throw on clothes and a blank, emotionless mask, in hopes that no one would notice that your insides were diced up chunks of what used to be a whole and functioning human being. You went about your duties mechanically, with about as much awareness and vitality as one of the animated corpses roaming the woods outside.

Of course, Ben had noticed that something was off right away, but you had mumbled an excuse about not feeling well, and thankfully, he had let it go. Perhaps, he thought you were still dealing with the aftermath of witnessing Harry's punishment. And, in a way, he was right. Except it wasn't so much Harry's punishment that made you want to curl up in a ball under the bed sheets and never move again. It was the harsh words that had come afterwards.

 _You are a mother fucking puppet that I utilize for my own fucking entertainment, and that is all._

You winced as the words seemed to echo in your head for the thousandth time since that night. Shifting over to the sink, you dumped a pot of water and noodles into a strainer, barely aware as drops of the scalding liquid hit your hands and arms as it splashed into the sink. What was a little physical pain, when compared to the agony of emotional turmoil? Hell, you were pretty sure that you could receive a hot iron treatment like Harry's, and still not really feel it. Or better yet, maybe it would actually distract you from the pain of your thoughts, and shut down your brain for just one god damn minute. Perhaps, then, you could have some relief from the feelings of hurt and betrayal that had crawled under your skin and taken root, like some poisonous seed.

Even sleep didn't give you a reprieve. Instead, you had had more dreams in the past six nights than the rest of the month combined. They were all vivid, too, and etched into your mind. Not the kind of dream that you woke up from all upset, only to realize that seconds later you had forgotten what it had even been about, a hazy fog already replacing the memory of it. No, these were the kind of dreams that you remembered, that stuck in your head and wouldn't let go. Just this morning, you had woken up in a cold sweat from a dream that was so realistic, so real…

 _You were back up against that tree, the one beside the cluster of hawthorn bushes out in the woods. Thighs wrapped tightly around denim-clad hips, and stubble chafed the sensitive skin of your throat, as Negan pressed you up against the rough bark and sucked possessive marks into your skin, growling that you were his._

 _But then, just like that, Negan was gone, and in his place was Harry. His raw, melted face was right in front of yours, and you screamed while pushing him away. You stumbled across the grass and to the other side of the bushes, in an attempt to put some distance between yourself and that horrible sight. But when you looked back, you saw that Harry was now gone, and that Negan had returned. In his hand was the iron, steam rising from it to showcase that it was still hot. Little bits and pieces ofburnt flesh clung to the metal, some dripping off to fall onto the ground as Negan advanced towards you, that sadistic grin on his face._

 _You begged him to stop, and tried to back up in retreat, but found that you were frozen to the spot. You knelt down in the grass, hands coming up to cover your face in a pathetic attempt to both shut him out and keep the iron away. Negan's voice drifted down to you, his tone both commanding and appallingly gleeful._

" _Sweetheart, lay your fucking eyes on this!"_

 _When you continued to huddle in the grass, his tone became harsher as he demanded, "I said, take a damn look!"_

 _Trembling, you peeked up over the tips of your fingers, and saw that Negan's face looked so disproportionate that it appeared almost cartoonish. His smile was stretched obscenely wide, like a clown's, and his eyes were so bright that they appeared to be glowing._

" _What's the matter, doll? Was the joke that bad?" he cackled, raising the iron in front of him._

" _Now I hope, for your own fucking sake, that you get it now. That you understand how the fuck things work around here. But in case you still don't fucking get it, well.."_

 _And with that, he brought his arm down swiftly, the hot metal of the iron descending on you, almost as if in slow motion. You screamed as it connected with the left side of your face and…_

And then you had woken up. Your t-shirt had been drenched with sweat, heart pounding as your hands flew to your face, assessing for damage that wasn't there. And it wasn't until you had frantically scanned your bedroom multiple times that you were finally assured that Negan wasn't actually in the room with you.

Hell, he hadn't even so much as spoken one word to you in almost a week.

You hadn't seen him for the first few days after the confrontation. In fact, your first glimpse of him was in the middle of the afternoon, three days after that night. You had been walking back from the commissary, and had just exited the staircase and turned a corner, when you saw his broad back at the other end of the hall, walking away from you. He was being followed by a small group of Saviors, but he stood out among them. His big, leather-coated shoulders and the gleaming points on Lucille showcased his power and authority, even from a distance. You had stood there, still and quiet as a mouse, breath stuck in your throat until he had reached the end of the hall and turned the corner. Only then, had you been able to push your feet into motion, turning around and fleeing back the way you had come, cursing angrily at yourself when you felt the hot sting of tears in your eyes.

But if you thought that near-interaction had been bad….well, it was nothing compared to your second encounter with Negan, which had occurred that very morning.

You had been outside for the first time since that night in the gardens, sitting at your usual picnic table and trying to quiet your mind after the horrific dream you had woken up from that morning. You had been attempting to read one of the books you had recentlybought from commissary with your points. Of course, concentrating had been impossible, and instead your eyes kept glancing around the side of the compound that led to the gardens. Images of Negan standing there between the rows of vegetables had flashed through your mind, while his harsh words repeated over and over in your head, until finally you had given up and headed back inside.

It was right as you were reaching out a hand towards the front door of the compound, that the heavy metal frame opened all on its own. And there, on the other side, stood Negan.

He had seen you standing there and stopped, as if surprised. Those beautiful, tawny eyes had locked onto yours, both of you holding the others gaze silently, as if looking at one another from a divide way larger than just a doorway. You both stood frozen, his expression unreadable and eyes glazed, as if someone had pulled the blinds down over them, hiding any hint of emotion. It had to have only lasted for a second or two, before he flickered his gaze up and away, effectively dismissing you. You had then darted past him, eyes firmly fixed on the ground, and hadn't dared to look up again until you were safely back inside your bedroom. You weren't sure what had hurt more: the fact that he hadn't said anything to acknowledge you, or the fact that he had looked at you with zero emotion in his face, as if you didn't matter…as if you were _nobody_ …

The sound of someone repeatedly saying your name interrupted your whirling thoughts, and you refocused your attention to the present, the strainer of noodles still sitting in the sink. Realizing that you had been standing there, silent and still, for who knows how long, you jerked your gaze up and to the right. Ben was standing beside you with a look of concern on his face. Behind him, a few other staff members were also watching you with obvious confusion and worry.

"I'm sorry, what did you say?" you tried to ask nonchalantly, while mentally kicking yourself for letting thoughts of Negan so thoroughly distract you.

"I asked if you needed help with the noodles."

"Oh…no, I'm good," you replied, but even you could hear how emotionless that response sounded.

You were vaguely aware of Ben shooing the other workers back to their tasks, while you went back to the stove for the next pot of boiling water. A gentle hand on your arm stopped you from picking up another pot.

"Boss, I think maybe you should call it a day and go rest," Ben gently suggested.

"I said, I'm good," you replied tartly, wanting to be irritated that he wouldn't let you alone, but also unable to summon the energy to feel anything except numb.

You saw a look of determination cross his face, and his tone became more firm as he quietly said, "You're _not_ good, so quit trying to act like you are. I don't know what's wrong, but if and when you're ready to talk, I'll be here to listen. However, you're freaking out the staff with how quiet and spaced out you've been the past week. And unless you want me to report you to medical, I want you to call it a day and go rest."

You knew that he was right, that you were even more zoned out today, after your encounter with Negan this morning. Just when you had started to feel like maybe, just maybe, you could try and act somewhat normal…that perhaps you were starting to recover…you had run into him. Seeing him at the front door of the compound and the look of dismissal in his gaze, had caused what minimal emotional progress you had made over the past six days to be kicked back to the starting line.

It felt like all you had done during dinner this week was reassure Ben that you were fine, even though you obviously weren't. You had tried being cold to him, icing him out, but he hadn't budged. You had also tried being abrupt and rude, ordering him to stop bothering you, but that hadn't worked either. Ben had been a constant companion at your side during dinner this week, always looking over his shoulder to check on you and trying to get you to talk, to no avail. You felt bad for the way you were treating him, and it wasn't like you really didn't want to talk to him. You had actually considered it at one point a few mornings ago, the possibility of spilling everything to Ben. But then, when you had walked into the kitchen and saw him, the words died in your throat. How the hell were you supposed to even explain the last few weeks, let alone how you felt now? And what could Ben possibly tell you, that you hadn't already told yourself? You were the idiot who had allowed yourself to start liking Negan, who had mistakenly let emotions develop for a man who was violent and brutal and feared by everyone in the compound. What could Ben say in response to that, except, "You should've known better?"

Nodding in concession, you whispered, "Alright."

"Alright?" Ben parroted. He looked surprised that you were admitting defeat so easily.

"You're right, I need some rest. I trust you can take it from here?" you said blankly.

"Of course. I'll have someone send up a tray for you…"

"No need," you interrupted him. "I'm not hungry."

Truth be told, you hadn't eaten much of anything except a few bites here and there for the last six days. You tried to eat in front of the staff when you all gathered for dinner, after the diners had left. But instead, you had mostly just pushed your food around in your bowl and pretended to eat, hoping no one would notice.

Ben didn't respond, and you didn't want to see the look of concern on his face any longer, so you turned and exited the kitchen without another word.

It was still fairly early when you got back to your room, the wall clock showcasing that the time was about 4:15pm. You hadn't worn the watch Negan got you…in fact, it and his copy of _The Scarlet Letter_ had been thrown in the drawer of your bedside table. Unfortunately, out of sight had not meant out of mind, but you still couldn't bring yourself to wear the watch. Not when he had made it so clear that giving it to you had meant absolutely nothing to him.

Sitting on your bed, you stared off into space, your brain completely exhausted, yet, still unable to shut down the constant racing thoughts and images of Negan from that night. You had spent so much time in here over the past six days, just sitting and thinking, that the room felt almost claustrophobic. You just needed a god damn break from everything, needed to get out and have some space. It was too bad that you couldn't go out in the woods and spend some time away from The Sanctuary. You thought of the third outing Negan had promised you, and how unlikely it was that it would ever happen.

But what if…no….you couldn't…could you?

Your brain had thrown an idea at you, one that might possibly be incredibly stupid, and even dangerous. _What if you just went on the third outing by yourself?_

Your subconscious, which had spent most of its time silent and hiding in the corner, lifted its head in curiosity. It started nodding slowly in approval of the brain's idea, and added its own commentary to your thoughts. _Just pack a bag, right now, and go out there. Spend the evening hiking around, maybe even spend the whole night out there, just like old times…just like how it was before you ever knew Negan existed._

You were unable to fight both your brain and your subconscious, not when the idea was appealing on so many levels. The woods were somewhere that you could feel able to breathe again, able to clear your head. And it wouldn't be that hard for you to survive out there for a few hours, or even for an entire night. Hell, you'd done it before, for weeks at a time. Granted, Maria and Tim had been with you last time, but you knew what to do. You knew how to survive on your own, and you didn't need _anyone_ , especially not Negan, to protect you. And maybe an evening outside the compound, back in touch with nature and away from an environment that included Negan, would help put you back on track. Could help you push a metaphorical reset button on your emotions.

Mind made up, you walked across the room and grabbed a ragged brown sack from the depths of one of the wooden crates. It was the sack you had used before living here, and you hadn't even looked at it since arriving at the compound two months ago. Now, you started stuffing essentials into it: an extra shirt, a few band aids and a roll of gauze, some granola bars, and a few bottles of water. You also grabbed the flashlight that you had bought from commissary a while ago, shaking the batteries and flicking the switch to check that it was still working, which it was. Walking over to the bed, you started to reach for Ricardo, who was propped up against the wall. However, you paused instead, looking over at the bedside table before glancing down at your mattress.

Not sure why you did it, but feeling compelled anyways, you reached down and lifted the mattress, sliding a hand underneath and wrapping your fingers on the little slip of paper that was still under there. You unfolded the slip, instant tears filling your eyes at the sight of the elegant, bold handwriting scrawled across it.

 _ **Now you can't say that I don't know how to be nice**_

You sat down on the bed abruptly, staring at the paper and reading the words over and over again. God, had it really only been a few weeks ago that he had written you this note? That he had given you the first real glimpse of the man underneath all the anger and gruff exterior. Where had that man gone? Had he ever even existed in the first place…or had it all been for show?

Opening the bedside table drawer, you lifted out the purple sports watch and the copy of _The Scarlett Letter_ , and then grabbed a pen that was lying in the bottom of the drawer. Flipping over the scrap of paper, you hesitated, before firmly putting the pen to it and writing a note of your own on the back.

 _ **I don't need this, or you, anymore**_

You weren't totally sure why you had written the words, but it was almost cathartic to put it down onto paper. Whether or not you believed the words was another matter entirely. But perhaps, if you wrote it down, it would be more real…would start to sink in.

Part of you was tempted to go up to Negan's room and leave the watch and book on the floor outside his door, but the possibility of someone seeing you was a deterrent. And what if you ran into Negan again? No, you weren't ready for that. Instead, you placed the two items back inside the bedside table drawer, and this time laid the slip of paper on top. Your message was facing upwards, as a reminder to yourself, the next time you opened the drawer.

Realizing that you had wasted more than enough time focusing on the past, you stood up, hiked the brown sack over your shoulder, grabbed Ricardo, and headed out the door. Your brain plodded along beside you, anxious for the chance to focus on something that didn't involve Negan. Meanwhile, your subconscious trailed a few steps behind, still dejected, but also looking more animated and hopeful than it had all week.


	33. Falling Into Place

Stepping outside the front door of the compound, you felt sweat immediately start to bead on the back of your neck as you walked into what felt like a wall of humidity. Squinting as the bright sunlight bore down, you tried to loosen your death grip on Ricardo…tried to look calm and in control, and not like you were about to try and escape the compound. Bringing up your free hand to shield your eyes from the sun, you felt a dart of hope and excitement to see that Dwight was, indeed, still on gate duty.

You had seen him at the front gate earlier today, when you had been sitting at the picnic table unsuccessfully trying to read. When you had then run into Negan and…

 _No, stop it!_ you scolded. Now was not the time to let thoughts of him take control. You had to focus, if you wanted to pull this off and get past the fences.

You knew from observation that those on gate and fence duty switched shifts around 6pm, which was halfway through the two hours that dinner was served. This way, whoever had the evening shift could eat during the first half of dinner, before relieving the day shift workers from their posts. This then gave those on day shift time to go to the cafeteria and eat during the second half of dinner. If you could get past Dwight now, then he would be leaving his post in a little over an hour, and would hopefully not inform the evening shift of your "mission". It was a lot of hoping on your part, but at this point, you didn't care what Dwight did after you left, so long as you could get him to open that damn gate.

Striding across the gravel towards him, you put a determined, no-nonsense look on your face. After your last conversation with Dwight, it was safe to say that he wasn't your biggest fan, but that was fine. Not everyone had to like you…but, you would make sure that they _did_ listen to and respect you.

Dwight watched you approach, and you made direct eye contact with him, not letting your gaze flinch or look downwards. Stopping in front of the fences, you cleared your throat and raised eyebrows expectantly, as if expecting him to just open the gate without any questioning. This wasn't successful, obviously, but it still worked in your favor to look impatient and annoyed with any dilly dallying.

"What do you want?" Dwight asked neutrally.

"You to open the gate," you flatly replied.

"And why, exactly, would I do that?" he said with a grin, as if you were amusing him.

Giving him an icy stare, you let one corner of your lips curl upwards slowly, as if you knew a secret that he didn't. "Fine, don't open it. I'll just go and tell Negan that you kept me from fulfilling his orders."

You saw uncertainty flash across Dwight's face, his grin disappearing and eyes darting nervously behind you, almost as if he were expecting Negan to appear out of thin air.

Looking back at you, he slowly said, "What orders?"

Rolling your eyes skyward, you opened your mouth and gave a loud sigh. "Look, it's not my fault if he didn't inform you ahead of time. I was told to come out here before dinner, go in the woods, and retrieve a bin of berries that Negan has waiting. Now, if you want to waste time and go ask him to confirm this, by all means, go ahead. But I guaran-fucking-tee that he won't appreciate you interrupting him right now, and putting me behind schedule with pointless questions."

When Dwight didn't immediately respond, you crossed your arms and tapped a foot impatiently while adding, "So, what'll it be? You going to open the damn gate, so that I can do what I'm supposed to, and we can both get on with our lives? Or, do you want me to wait here, while you go double check with Negan, and most likely piss him off?"

Dwight was silent, scrutinizing you closely, as if to find fault in your words. However, you calmly returned his gaze. If there was one person in this entire compound who you felt sure you could get to open the gate, it was Dwight. He was the one person who had witnessed just how close you and Negan were….well… _had_ been. But Dwight probably didn't know about your falling out with Negan. And after how pissed Negan had been the last time Dwight interrupted you out in the woods, it was unlikely that he would want to risk Negan's anger again, especially where you were concerned. That fear and uncertainty was what you were currently depending on, because if Dwight _did_ decide to go check with Negan, then you were utterly fucked.

After what felt like an eternity of silence and gazing at one another, Dwight finally dropped his eyes and gave a nod. You kept your gaze even, still not wanting to show any emotion, as he opened the gate and stepped back to let you through. Giving him a silent nod of thanks, you calmly walked through the gate, and started off towards the woods.

It wasn't until you entered the trees and were out of sight of the compound that you finally released a loud sigh of relief. You had made it! A gleeful laugh escaped your lips, adrenaline pumping through your system at the fact that you had, well and truly, made it past the fences, and were temporarily free.

Taking in a deep breath, you held it for a few seconds before releasing a sigh. You already felt a lot lighter, and your brain had slowed its racing thoughts, as you got further and further away from the compound. You must've been walking for a couple hours at this point, because the sun was starting to slowly decline in the sky. You hadn't had any distinct destination in mind, but had made sure to carve large 'X's in trees here and there with your pocket knife, as well as be aware of what direction you were walking in relation to the sun. Months ago, back before arriving at The Sanctuary, it was these and other little tricks that had helped you, Maria, and Tim from constantly walking around in circles through the woods. It would take some concentration to follow your trail back, but you were confident in your ability to do so.

Seeing as how it was unlikely that you would return before dark, you had already decided to spend the night out here. In about another hour, you would probably need to find some type of shelter, be it a tree to curl up in or some thick brush to crawl under, to hide you from view of any walkers. Your brain had thrown out the worry about how you were going to explain this to the person at the front gate in the morning, but you pushed the worry aside, for now.

If Dwight was back at the gate in the morning, then you would figure out a way to keep him silent, even if you had to resort to blackmail, once again. And if it were someone else on duty, well…you'd figure it out when the time came. Right now, you were feeling a bit reckless, and a bit uncaring for the so-called "rules" that kept you from being out here. Besides, even if Negan found out, what else could he possibly do to hurt you? Go forth with his threats? You still didn't believe that he would actually kill you, but he _might_ kick you out of the compound. In that case, you'd survive, just like you always had…like you were doing right now. As the note had said, you didn't need him, or anyone else. You were fine on your own. Your brain and subconscious looked at you skeptically in response, but thankfully stayed silent.

One good thing about being outside and hiking for hours was that it had released some of your pent-up energy and emotions. The moping, dejected part of you had been slowly shed with each step, and now you felt the familiar and welcome simmer of anger. Anger at yourself, yes, for putting emotions on the line for a man who was so unpredictable and inaccessible. But more so, anger at Negan. Anger at him for manipulating you into thinking that, perhaps, there was more to him than the persona he showcased. That perhaps there was a likeable and caring man underneath all those layers of emotional walls and defense mechanisms. And if there _was_ such a man hidden under all those layers, then you were even _more_ mad at him for starting to show you that side of himself. For opening the veil and beckoning you to come inside, only to then slam the doors shut right in your face and throw you painfully out on your ass.

So no, you didn't give a flying fuck what he thought or said or did, when and if he found out that you had left. Hell, maybe you wouldn't even go back. You could just continue walking, in hopes of finding some other community or group. You hadn't packed much food, but you had made due on less supplies before. Perhaps you were just high on adrenaline from escaping the compound, but you currently didn't give a damn. The possibilities in front of you felt endless, and for the first time in a long time you felt in complete control of your own destiny, and of your next move.

However, images of those you cared about flashed through your mind. Images of Maria, and how disappointed she would be in your acting so irrationally. Images of Ben, and how distraught he'd be at you out here on your own, without him. How hurt they would both feel that you had left without even saying goodbye. Images of the kitchen staff also appeared in your head, each and every one of their faces showcasing frowns and downcast eyes, upset at how you had just abandoned them, without any explanation or cause. The only face that probably _wouldn't_ care as much was Trixie's. Hell, it was possible that she would even be happy at your leaving. You wouldn't put it past her to try climbing the ranks and taking over your position as head chef, if for no other reason than to put herself more directly in view of Negan.

Cursing to yourself, you realized that you couldn't just walk away from The Sanctuary. Couldn't turn your back on the position you had created there for yourself…from the people who had grown to care about you, and you had grown to care about in return. No matter how much you wanted to give a big 'fuck you' to Negan, and his idea that he was all-powerful and no one would dare defy him…you wanted to be there for your friends even more. Hard as it was for you to believe, Ben had been right last week, when he told you that the staff would walk over hot coals for you. And not because they felt that they had to, but because they _wanted_ to.

Despite being stuck in your own thoughts and emotions this week, you hadn't been completely oblivious to those around you. The staff had been nothing but supportive, despite you being snappy and cold to them all week. They hadn't avoided you or snapped back; they had continued to smile at you in greeting each day when you entered the kitchen, and had repeatedly tried to invite you into their conversations, respecting when you were instead silent and distant. They had also been worried, and you had felt their concerned glances constantly, especially Ben's.

Tears pooled in your eyes as you finally allowed yourself to recognize how important you really were to them, how integral a part of the community. Perhaps you weren't important to Negan, but you sure as hell _were_ important to others. And what kind of asshole would you be, to turn your back on them, just because some prick hurt your feelings? No, you were better than that. You were better than _him_.

Glancing up, you were surprised to see that the sun had now, well and truly, started to set. You had been walking along aimlessly for the last who knew how long, completely lost in your own epiphany, while the light dimmed and the trees cast long shadows all around. You foolishly hadn't carved an 'X' into any trees lately, so you went over to a large nearby trunk and put your knife to it.

It was as you were finishing the second diagonal slash that you heard the garbled growls behind you. Turning, you saw a walker materialize out of the shadowed woods. You had your pocket knife in one hand, and Ricardo in the other, so you placed the handle of the pocket knife between your teeth and bit down, so that you could have both hands free to wield Ricardo. Stepping forward, you thrust the pointed end through the walker's skull, effectively killing the animated corpse, for good this time. You jerked the spear free and turned to see a second walker come out of the shadows.

You felt a bit of alarm run down your spine at the sight of a couple more walkers emerging from the trees. There were four of them, not counting the one lying at your feet, and you prayed that no more showed up. You impaled the closest one's skull with Ricardo before jogging a few steps backwards, in an attempt to gain some space and hopefully draw the walkers apart, so that they wouldn't all reach you at the same time.

You faced the three remaining walkers, your brain and subconscious cheering you on from the sidelines. The fastest one got within reach, and you slammed Ricardo through its skull with a grunt. You were sweating profusely now, both from fear and exhaustion. After hours of walking through the woods, and days of hardly any nourishment, you weren't physically up to par. You turned and jogged a few feet away, to clear your path from the other fallen walkers and to give you a few more seconds to refocus your mind and gear up for another thrust of Ricardo. You watched as one of the remaining walkers tripped over the fallen corpse of its brethren. It quickly struggled back to its feet, mouth gaping wide before snapping shut, as if trying to tear your flesh apart even from a distance. When the first walker, which hadn't tripped, came close enough, you effectively impaled it with Ricardo, while your brain and subconscious gave a high five.

You watched the corpse fall with a snort of disgust, and turned to face the last one. It was coming for you at an impressive pace, as if possessed by a maddening desire to seek revenge on its herd-mates. Your arms were burning from thrusting Ricardo with all your might multiple times and then having to pull him back out of each skull. _God, remind me never to come out here alone again, without eating a big meal first,_ you thought tiredly.

Taking the pocket knife from between your teeth, you dropped Ricardo to the ground and waited for the walker to reach you. When it was only a couple feet away, it seemed to fall forward, almost as if it were trying to dive headfirst on top of you. Quickly reaching up past its outstretched arms, you met its forward momentum with your own and shoved the end of the knife into the side of its head, up to the hilt. This succeeded in halting its garbled growls and snapping jaws, immediately.

What happened next was so quick, that you later were somewhat fuzzy on the details.

Since the walker had been moving forward at a fairly rapid pace, the momentum of its now limp corpse caused it to fall into you. Shoving frantically, you tried to dislodge its body off of you, which only served to push your palms through its delicate chest cavity, your hands sliding into slimy liquid and decayed flesh. Panicking, you jumped backwards, seeking to get away from the disgustingly rotted corpse. You were completely unaware of the large, fallen branch laying on the ground directly behind you, as well as the large rocks that were littering the ground.

You felt the back of your ankle hit and catch on something hard. The impact, mixed with your backward momentum and the weight of the limp corpse, caused you to fall backwards. Your hands were still inside the chest of the dead walker, and so did not have time to reach out behind you to break the fall. You felt your back hit the ground first, followed a moment later by your head bouncing sharply off something cold and hard.

You felt pain flash through your skull, and then the world went black.


	34. Savior or Monster?

It felt like you were swimming up from the bottom of a dark, grey ocean. Each individual sense seemed to return one by one, as if the hazy veil of unconsciousness was slowly being pulled back. When you finally reached the metaphorical surface, eyes blinked open to discover only more darkness. There were dim outlines of tall masses all around you, but the lighting was so low that you could only make out shapes, not details.

 _Why are you not in bed?_ you wondered, confused and disoriented. Your hearing then seemed to switch "online" because you heard a sort of buzz that eventually gave way to the sound of voices…wait _voices_? You tried to sit up, but felt instantly nauseous and laid back down. Where the fuck were you? It felt as if you were outside… _the forest_.

You started to remember bits and pieces of earlier, of walking through the woods…but what had happened? How had you ended up on the ground? The answer felt like it was right _there_ in your brain, but yet still out of reach.

It was then that your sense of pain came back; it started as a dull pulse that gained in intensity, until the back of your head was throbbing with the mother of all headaches. You heard the voices getting louder, and your eyes caught a movement of light through the trees. Still unable to fully piece together what was happening, you laid there and tried to focus, tried to remember what had led to this…but to no avail. Closing your eyes, you took some deep breaths, but that did nothing to help the throbbing in your head. It wasn't an unmanageable pain, but it was damn distracting.

You must've started to drift back off into unconsciousness, because a flash of light passed across your closed lids, startling you back to awareness. Opening your eyes was a mistake, since the beam of light came back, this time centering on your face. You groaned and immediately squeezed your eyes shut in pain, the light seeming bright as the sun to your sensitive vision.

You heard a voice call out, "I found her! Simon, I found her!"

The voice sounded familiar, a voice you were certain you had heard not too long ago…but you couldn't quite place it. The light was gone from your face, but you still didn't want to risk opening your eyes, in case it came back. You heard what sounded like multiple footsteps come closer, then stop right beside you.

"I'll be damned, it _is_ her," you heard another voice say. This one didn't sound familiar, at least not to your dazed senses.

"Thank God," the voice continued. "He would've killed all of us if we hadn't found her."

"Was she bit?" the familiar voice asked. You tried to mumble a negative, but found that speaking was too much work at the moment, and that you were still so exhausted…that it would be so nice to just drift back off to sleep and…

A hand roughly shook your shoulder, followed by a curt voice saying, "Don't you dare pass out again. If you die on my watch, I'll be fucked."

The unfamiliar voice then turned away and said, "Go get Negan; he should be searching west of us. I don't want to move her without his orders."

You heard hurried footsteps as the one man left, followed by the sound of strange whistling through the trees, almost as if it were a signal to someone. You heard a grunt come from the man still beside you, and then felt something heavy slide off your torso and legs, which helped you to breathe a little better.

You opened your eyes again, to see that the man was hunched over you, his face mostly shrouded in the dark. If he also had a flashlight, it was currently turned off. You squinted, trying to take in his features, but this only caused your vision to blur more. When you started to see two sets of his shadowed face, you felt the nausea hit.

You barely had time to roll over to the side before vomiting on the grass. You were still too weak to lift your head, but at least you seemed to get most of it on the ground, rather than on yourself. You heard a harsh, "Shit!" from the man behind you, before a firm hand helped push you further onto your side, anchoring you there until you had emptied any and all contents of your stomach.

It was as you were turning onto your back again, with help from the man, who your brain was now starting to realize was the Simon that had been mentioned earlier, that you heard another whistle come through the trees. The man beside you whistled back, the noise sounding even louder and more piercing than it should, probably thanks to whatever the hell you had done to your head, which was still hurting. You were starting to remember that you had fallen…but couldn't remember how.

You tried to once again focus on your dark surroundings, just in time to hear multiple bodies coming through the trees. The hair stood up on the back of your neck and arms as you heard light, yet firm, footfalls come closer. A tall, large shadow of a man stepped up beside you, and a gruff voice growled, "What the fuck happened to her?"

Your brain and subconscious, who had both been struggling to get their footing, both froze in recognition of the voice. _Negan_.

"Dwight found her like this, sir. There's a few dead walkers near here, so she must've passed out, or knocked herself unconscious while fighting them off. She also had a dead walker lying on top of her, but she doesn't appear to have been bit. I didn't want to move her for fear of further injury."

You tried to speak again, but all that came out was a groan. If it wasn't for the continued throb in your head, and the fact that the shadows around you were still blurred and causing some residual nausea, you'd be embarrassed as hell right now. However, at the moment, you were just focused on not vomiting again, because you would be damned if you did so in front of him. It was bad enough that you had done so in front of Simon, and were currently lying next to a pile of it.

 _There were dead walkers nearby? And one on top of you?_ Your brain latched onto this information, knowing that it was important to the story, to how you had ended up unconscious. The pieces were starting to fit back into place, but the puzzle still had some holes in it.

"Fucking back up," Negan commanded. You saw the dark outline of Simon stand up and move away. You had no clue how they were all able to see so well in the dark with their flashlights turned off. _Maybe if you were able to do that, you wouldn't have ended up on the ground,_ your brain lectured. You ignored it, still not aware enough to argue.

You didn't have to see clearly to know that the large shape that came over and bent down was Negan. Your body, even though still off balance and not functioning properly, was reacting to his presence via an outburst of goosebumps and tensed muscles. Large hands starting running up and down your legs, from ankle to thigh. A slight, bruising feel of pain bloomed when he pressed on your left ankle, but it wasn't enough to cause a reaction from you. When his hands trailed up over your ribs, you tried to jerk away from him, hands coming up to feebly push at his.

"Doll, do you hurt anywhere?" he asked gruffly, his hands continuing up to your shoulders and neck.

Before you could respond, his one hand lifted your head, the other feeling the back of your skull. Pain speared through you, causing you to cry out, when he touched the tender area that had been throbbing. You heard Negan give a colorful string of curses, before he commanded, "Simon, go back and tell Dr. Carson that he's needed fucking immediately, and that he better be fucking ready to examine her by the time we get back."

The nausea had gotten worse when he touched the sore spot on your head, and you were too busy focusing on taking deep, even breaths and not getting sick again, to at first notice what was happening. Long, strong arms wrapped around the back of your knees and the middle of your torso, and you felt yourself being lifted off the ground and pulled in against a warm, broad chest. Thankfully, the shock of being picked up overrode the nausea, and you tried to weakly push against his chest, silently protesting his actions. You wanted to verbally object, to say that you could walk on your own and didn't need him to take care of you, like some helpless child.

Instead, his arms tightened on you as he soothed, "Relax, doll. I got you."

Whether a response to his words, a result of being mentally and physically exhausted, or a combination of all of the above, you felt yourself immediately go limp. You swore that warm lips brushed your forehead, but it could've been your imagination. Pressing your cheek into the leather over his chest, you closed your eyes and were lulled to sleep by the rhythmic movement of Negan's steps as he carried you back to camp.

0

Your second time returning to consciousness was only slightly less painful and confusing. Your head still ached, and your vision was still blurry, at first. Blinking to clear them, you stared up at a white ceiling, your body lying on a pillowy, unidentifiable surface. _Hadn't you been outside, before?_

You laid there for a moment, letting your brain and senses come to life. Metaphorical puffs of smoke came from your mind, as it took a few cranks of the gears to get itself whirling again. The memories started to come back, more clearly this time. How you had convinced Dwight to let you out in the woods, then had walked for hours and done some soul searching, before coming across a pack of walkers. The details of how you fell were still a bit hazy, but you remembered killing a small heard of the animated corpses before somehow falling backwards, which was where the memory ended.

However, you also faintly remembered waking up in the woods, and being found. Looking back now, you were fairly certain it had been Dwight and Simon who found you, and had told Negan…

 _Shit, Negan!_

It was as if your brain had finally caught up with the series of events, and you tried to sit upright as the memories hit. However, a wave of dizziness caused you to lay back down and close your eyes. You remembered how one of the men, you believed it was Simon, had made some comment about Negan killing them if they didn't find you…what had that been about?

And he had actually _carried_ you out of the forest. Or was that a dream….no, you were pretty sure it wasn't.

Opening your eyes again, you slowly lifted your head, and thankfully the dizziness wasn't present this time. Looking down, you saw that your body was covered in crimson, and that you were lying on a large, flat surface that was incredibly comfortable and…

 _You're in his fucking bed!_

Realization hit that you were not only in Negan's bedroom, but currently lying in his huge, king-size bed and tucked into his crimson sheets. You lifted the covers, and were horrified to see that your pants were gone, leaving behind just a simple pair of light blue panties to cover you from the waist down. You were also wearing a different shirt than earlier, this one a light blue, which, ironically, matched your panties. _What in the fuck…._

It was then that you heard a door open and voices coming from your right, in the direction of Negan's office.

"Now, explain to me again why the fuck you can't do your mother fucking job and tell me what the _fuck_ is wrong with her?"

"Sir, I believe she has a concussion. But, as I said before, I don't know how long it'll last…"

"Aren't you a fucking doctor? How the holy fucking hell could you not know how long it will fucking last?!"

Slowly inching yourself backwards so that you were propped up against the plush padding of the black headboard, you listened as Negan, and what sounded like Dr. Carson, continued their conversation.

"Concussions can last anywhere from a few hours to a few weeks, maybe even longer, if it's more severe. The only thing we can really do is keep an eye on her and make sure her symptoms get better, rather than worse."

You heard Negan give a harsh chuckle, which caused goosebumps to raise on your arms. It wasn't by any stretch of the imagination a pleasant or good-humored sound.

"You better fucking hope she does get better, _doc_ , or else it'll be more than your job on the fucking line," Negan threatened.

You could just imagine him waving Lucille in front of the doctor's face, to emphasize his words. But what you couldn't understand was why he even cared. Unless, he wanted you fully recovered for when he punished you in front of the whole community for your indiscretions.

Glancing towards the large windows, you saw that it was still dark out, the moon glowing down at you through the window. The bedroom itself was moderately well-lit, thanks to the lights in the chandelier above you and a tall, standing lamp over by the doorway that was turned on. It was almost as if Negan hadn't wanted you to wake up in darkness, hadn't wanted you to be disoriented… _or maybe he was just being a douche by not turning off the lights and letting you sleep in peace._

You still had no idea why you were in his bed, though. Wouldn't it have made more sense to put you back in your own room? Maria's words from a couple weeks ago bounced through your head.

 _I've never been in Negan's bedroom. None of his wives have._

So many questions, yet still no answers. And none of it added up with what he had told you a week ago in the gardens. You felt the now-familiar pang in your chest that occurred when remembering his harsh words. But now, along with that pang, was also the burn of anger. If going out into the forest had accomplished anything, it was that it had given back your will to fight. Your will to look Negan straight in the eye, without breaking down into a whimpering puddle of tears. And for that, the trip had been worth it. Concussion or no concussion.

At that moment, the door connecting the bedroom to his office opened, and there he stood in the doorway.

Your breath caught in your throat at the sight of him. He was sans scarf, and the leather jacket was unzipped and hanging free over a grey t-shirt. You could see smears of mud across the jacket, as well as some splotches on his jeans and boots. His hair was disheveled, as was the rest of him, and you wondered how long he had been out in the woods with his men…looking for you.

Taking a step into the room, he closed the door behind him, his gaze never wavering from you. Feeling vulnerable, you had the strangest urge to pull the covers up over your head and hide, like you used to do when you were a child and scared of monsters that lurked under the bed. But you were no longer a child, and monsters were no longer things that lived under beds. The being in front of you might be part monster in some ways, but he was also a man. Being afraid of make-believe creatures had never felt so ridiculous as it did now, when sitting in front of this beautiful, and yet, deadly creature, who could emotionally swallow you whole with one bite.

"Well," he drawled, his voice low and even, which was actually even more intimidating than if he had been loud and abrasive. "I see that you're finally fucking awake."

You stared back at him, hands gripping the mattress tightly underneath the sheets, but thankfully hidden from his view. After a week of not talking to him, after that cold interaction in front of the compound just that past morning, you felt out of your depth. He had told you in no uncertain terms where you stood, and how little he thought of you, and so any previous comfort or ease of speaking to him was gone, replaced by hesitation and self-doubt.

Walking across the room, so that he stood at the foot of the bed, he trailed his eyes down your body, as if he could see underneath the sheets, before trailing back up again.

"How's your head feel?" he flatly asked.

Realizing that he expected an answer, you cleared your throat, voice raspy and dry as you responded, "Hurts a little."

You watched silently as he walked over to the table and two chairs on the other side of the bed to your left. He picked up the pitcher of water and empty glass sitting on the flat surface, filling the cup before turning and walking up the side of the bed towards you. You tensed when he offered the glass, careful not to touch his glove-covered fingers with your own as you took it from him. Taking a few sips while watching him over the rim, you slightly relaxed when he walked back to the foot of the bed. The fact that he was still standing was intimidating, but at least there was the length of the bed between the two of you.

He waited patiently until you had finished drinking and put the glass on the bedside table to your right. It was then that he started his interrogation. "Care to tell me what the fuck possessed you to sneak past my guards and leave the compound?" he rumbled, his voice still low, but a bit more heated this time.

While your thoughts were clearer than they had been before, and were getting more so with every passing minute, you still felt a bit off balance. Your head did, indeed, still hurt, you were tired and hungry, and really, you just wanted to be left alone. But you knew that wasn't going to happen, not so long as Negan's questions went unanswered. However, you had no current response to his inquiry, at least none that you were willing to give. Saying that you had left because you were still upset about his words from an entire week ago, would make you look weak and emotional…it would make you look like you cared.

When it was clear that you weren't going to give him a response, Negan gave soft snort, as if he were amused, although his eyes were devoid of any humor.

"Fine, if you won't answer that fucking question, then we'll move on to the next one."

Reaching into the front of his open jacket, he pulled something out of an inside pocket. Stepping up closer to the foot of the bed, he flicked his wrist, tossing the small item onto the bed, so that it landed beside your sheet-covered legs.

"I'd love to hear your fucking explanation for _that_ ," he growled, his previously flat and cold eyes starting to warm up with the first sparks of anger.

Looking away from his gaze, you leaned forward and picked up what he had thrown on the bed, which you now realized was a folded piece of paper. There were sentences on both sides: the one was in Negan's unique handwriting, and the sentence on the opposite side was written by your own hand. A wave of ice-cold shock went through you as eyes scanned the familiar words, and you recognized exactly what it was that you were holding.

It was the same note that you had placed in your bedside table drawer, just a few hours before.


	35. Bedside Confessions

You stared at the note, almost hoping that it was a mirage. That perhaps you had hit your head even harder than anyone thought, and now were hallucinating this entire thing. But, sadly, the paper between your fingers felt all too real, as did the rush of anxiety and embarrassment that came with the realization that Negan had been privy to something so personal. That not only had he seen your written response to his note…but he now knew you had kept the note this entire time.

You also realized that this meant he had been looking through your things, and that your privacy had been violated, which brought about a spark of annoyance. Why the hell had he been looking in your bedside table? Had he done so in the past, or was this the first time?

Looking up at him calmly, you quietly answered his question with one of your own. "How did you get this?"

As if you were playing a verbal game of volleyball, Negan served you back another question, instead of an answer. "How about you tell me why the fuck you wrote it, first?"

Rather than nicely hit the ball back to him, you decided to spike it in his face, by replying, "How about _you_ tell _me_ why I currently don't have on any pants?"

You saw him blink silently, as if taken off guard by the change in topic. However, he quickly righted himself, a slow grin lifting the corners of his mouth. Jesus, you had almost forgotten how god damn beautiful he was when he smiled.

"Pants didn't seem like a priority, given the situation," he drawled.

You felt a blush hit your cheeks at his words. In any other environment, you might've been able to control your reaction, but not here. Not while sitting in his bed, only a thin sheet between your bare legs and his gaze. You looked down at the hand holding the note, which had reflexively clenched closed at his words. Relaxing and opening your fingers, the note still lay on your palm, but now it was crinkled at the edges. It looked exactly how you currently felt: not damaged or broken, but just…wrinkled. Like you were waiting for a hand to come along and gently smooth out the rough edges of your emotional crinkles. To straighten and ease the creases that had been left behind after Negan closed his fist around you with his words a week ago. However, like the note, you weren't torn or irreparable; no, you were just a bit weathered and worn with the harsh wisdom of how he really felt about you.

Looking up at Negan, you met his gaze solidly, letting him see that you weren't going to submit or cower before him. Even if you felt at an extreme disadvantage with your lack of clothing and current environment, that wasn't going to keep you from standing your ground, so to speak. Eyes holding his, you nonchalantly flicked the note down onto the sheets between the two of you, almost as if you were throwing down a gauntlet.

Instead of accepting the challenge and responding in anger, like you had been expecting, Negan gave a deep sigh and walked away from the foot of the bed. He stopped at the small table and two chairs to your left, sitting down in the one furthest away, so that he was facing you. He then slowly removed each of his gloves and laid them on top of one another on the smooth surface of the table.

The motion gave you a sense of déjà vu, and you recalled the last time you had watched him take off his gloves at that table: the day you had played chess with him. That event, now, seemed so long ago, and suddenly, you longed to go back to it. To relive the day when you and Negan had bantered playfully, joked with another…actually _enjoyed_ one another's company. But…had it been genuine? Or, as he had told you in the gardens, had he just been manipulating you for his own entertainment?

You wondered if his thoughts had traveled a similar route just now, because he stared down at the flat surface thoughtfully, before lifting his tawny gaze to once again meet your own. You stared back at him, unflinchingly, and remained silent.

After a long moment, he finally broke the silence. "So, is this the fucking game we're going to play, doll?"

You knew immediately that he _had_ been thinking of the chess match, and that his words were a metaphor for that day…that game.

Finding that it was easier to slip back into the verbal games and witty banter then you had at first expected, you met his cryptic metaphor with one of your own. "Depends on if the king in this game will be capturable. Or is the queen expected to just run around until she's exhausted, with no possible victory in sight?"

He gave a slight huff at your words, as if he found them amusing, but his gaze was still showcasing some flickering embers of anger, and you knew that the wrong words could bring those embers to full flame.

"How about you make the first move by answering my question about why you wrote that fucking note?" he challenged.

Shrugging, you replied, "I wrote it because I wanted to."

Pinning you with his gaze, he warned, "Doll…"

"I wish you'd stop calling me that," you blurted.

Surprised, and yet also annoyed, he snarled, "Why the fuck is me calling you doll a problem _now_?"

"Since the moment you made it clear that that's all I am to you," you shot back. This wasn't the direction you had wanted the conversation to go, but you couldn't help it. The fact that he was speaking to you so calmly, as if nothing had happened a week ago, was quickly grating your nerves. Before, that nickname had been endearing, and had made you feel unique, in a way, since you were the only one he bestowed with it. However, it now made you feel cheap, and like a fool for ever thinking you had been special to him.

His brows had furrowed at your response, and his words were drawled out slowly, as he asked, "What the fuck is that supposed to mean?"

Had he really forgotten, already? You felt a bubble of hysterical laughter rise in your chest, but pushed it back down. You knew that laughter, such as that, could quickly escalate into tears, and you needed to keep ahold of your annoyance and anger, instead.

"It means that, while I might just be a _puppet_ for your amusement, I'd rather not be publicly reminded of what I am with every other sentence you direct at me."

You were mighty proud of yourself for speaking your mind without flinching or cowering. The last time you had dared to challenge him, it had ended in some harsh emotional wounds. However, maybe it was the lingering effects of the concussion, or the leftover rush of adrenaline from escaping the compound, but you found that your fiery determination was back in a way that it hadn't been this past week. At this point, he couldn't do anything to you that hadn't already been done. You knew what it felt like to be skewered by his words, and you knew what it was like to live outside the compound on your own, since you had done so before arriving here a few months ago. And now, after your daring escape, it was likely that you would also know what it was like to lose your position in the kitchen, if he didn't kick you out of the compound entirely. So, really, what did you have to lose at this point, if you spoke your mind?

Rather than address your comment, Negan huffed, "You're changing the fucking topic."

"I'm really not," you calmly replied.

"How does something I said a fucking week ago have anything to do with you sneaking out?" he asked. While you felt slightly more at ease with him sitting down, you still were on edge with this conversation. And the last thing you wanted to do was discuss how much his words had affected you and your decision to go out into the woods.

Therefore, you maneuvered away from the _puppet_ comment by bringing up something else he had said. "Well, you also threatened to kick me out of the compound, if I didn't follow your rules. Maybe I just figured I'd beat you to the punch and leave on my own."

His eyes darkened and lips pursed as he rumbled, "Are you're trying to say it's _my_ fault that you fucking snuck out and almost got yourself killed?"

You stared back at him, silently arching one brow in a silent version of 'if the shoe fits.'

"So why leave the note?" he pressed. His tone was neutral, but his fingers tapping against the surface of the table gave away his internal frustration.

"I didn't leave it. It was supposed to be private, and you weren't supposed to go snooping through my things," you said calmly, also trying not to fidget and showcase your own frustration.

"If it was fucking private, then maybe you should've hidden it better. Then I wouldn't have had to deal with Ben raising the alarm that you'd disappeared from the fucking compound."

"Ben?!" you blurted in shock.

At this, Negan stood up from the chair and walked back to the foot of the bed, his eyes fixed on you. "Yes, Ben. It was your precious little Benny boy who came pounding on my door, interrupting a perfectly good meal, to inform me of your disappearance."

"How…"

"Apparently, he went to check on you after dinner, since you hadn't been feeling well. After he couldn't find you in your room, or the medic station, or fucking anywhere else, he alerted Simon to your disappearance. Since it hadn't even been a few hours since you'd last been seen, Simon didn't see the need to raise any fucking alarm bells, so he told Ben to cool his fucking jets. Instead, the little shit bypassed the system and came straight to me, throwing that fucking note in my face and proclaiming that you had left. When I went and questioned my Saviors, Dwight came forward and said that he had let you out of the fucking front gate hours earlier, since you had said _those were my fucking orders,_ " he growled the last part, obviously pissed about your manipulation. You had a moment of anxiety for Dwight, but you had too much going on with Negan right now to expend extra energy worrying about someone else.

So, Ben had been the one to find the note, not Negan. The words written on it must've really alarmed Ben, for him to confront Negan in that way. You wondered if he knew that you had been found, or if he was still off panicking somewhere. He had definitely been worried about you during dinner prep, so it made sense that he would come check on you. When he had seen you missing, and then not been able to find you in any of the communal areas, he had probably gone snooping around for some sort of clue as to where you had gone. You couldn't fault him for that, since you probably would've done the same thing, if the roles had been switched. And, in all honesty, him finding the note and alerting Negan had actually been a good thing, seeing as how you could still be laying out there fighting off a concussion, or stumbling around confused in the dark, easy prey for any nearby walkers.

Also, when thinking back over the words you had written, they did sound pretty cryptic, like a goodbye note, almost. You wondered if Negan thought you had left for good, and weren't coming back…but why would he care, either way?

"I'm surprised you took Ben's concerns seriously," you flippantly replied. You weren't even going to address the part about how you had manipulated Dwight to escape. Your head was still aching, and you knew that going down that path would make Negan even more pissed, and therefore make your headache worse.

"I almost didn't," he growled. "I wanted to strangle the little shit, but he said that you hadn't seemed yourself lately. That you weren't eating or talking, and probably wouldn't make it out there on your fucking own for very long." Nodding down at you, Negan scoffed, "Seeing the state we found you in, he wasn't fucking wrong."

Even though you had been just thinking something similar, it still raised your hackles for him to verbally acknowledge just how vulnerable you had been out in the woods. Annoyed, you challenged, "I don't understand why you even came looking for me. It's not like you had to."

"No shit, I didn't have to," he huffed arrogantly.

"So, why did you? Why not just let me go, instead? Or at the very least, wait until morning?" You were honestly curious as to his reasoning, since it didn't make any logical sense why he had put a group of his men in potential danger, just to find one individual who had voluntarily left.

When he didn't look like he was going to respond, you further goaded him by adding, "I wouldn't think risking a group of your men for one _puppet_ would be worth the effort."

Negan gave what could only be classified as a snarl, and started pacing back and forth in front of the bed. "You're a real pain in my fucking ass, ya know that?"

" _Me?!_ " you scoffed."You're the one who made a big deal out of this whole thing, rather than just letting me go, or waiting until morning."

Negan stroked a hand over his beard, his nonverbals giving off his frustration in waves. "And what if I _had_ let you go? You could be dead right now."

You knew he was right, but you weren't about to concede. Pride wouldn't let you. Instead, you gave a nonchalant shrug and stated, "I still don't see how it would've mattered to you. I'd think having me out of the way would be a relief; one less person you'd have to worry about."

At this, Negan stopped pacing, leaned down, and put his palms on the mattress. His tawny gaze seared into your own, as he growled, "Is that really how you think I saw the situation? As a fucking relief?"

You saw the flames in his gaze, but for some reason, he didn't seem angry…or at least, not at you. In fact, he was kind of freaking you out. It wasn't like him to lose control enough to pace back and forth, and the expression on his face right now was one you hadn't seen before, and you couldn't quite put your finger on what it was. Your head started to ache more than before, probably from your brain trying to make sense of the situation. You reached a hand up to massage your temple; Negan's gaze followed the motion, watching closely, as if trying to analyze how much pain you were in.

Frustrated with both the pain and his vague riddles, you blurted out what you had been wondering, ever since waking up in this room. "I don't know, Negan. I'm honestly confused as hell right now. First, you tell me that I don't mean anything to you, and that I should just leave if I don't like how things are done around here. Then I _do_ leave, and you send out a search team to look for me. Then I wake up in your god damn _bed,_ which makes absolutely zero sense, seeing as how _supposedly_ no one except you is allowed to be here. You talk about how 'there are rules' and no one is to break them, but then I see _you_ breaking them all the time!"

Standing up straight again, Negan ran his tan, long-fingered hand slowly down over his beard, staring at you in contemplation. "It's not like I fucking expected to break those rules," he growled in admission.

Feeling as if you were finally starting to get somewhere, you prodded, "Then, why did you?"

He took a deep breath, as if to compose himself, before softly saying, "Because, doll…I couldn't stand the fucking thought of you out there, alone. I couldn't stop thinking that you might've left for good…or that you could be lying dead out there in the fucking woods…"

You were able to ignore his 'doll' usage, because your brain was currently frozen with shock, while your subconscious was gaping silently from the other side of the room, both of them trying to process what his words meant. Could it be…had he been…no, there was no way…

He started pacing across the floor again, slower this time. He was grumbling under his breath, and the words were so low that it seemed as if he were talking more to himself than to you. "I thought I had stopped knowing what that fucking felt like."

He then shook his head, as if realizing that he was showcasing more honesty than he had intended, and was trying to physically shake off the emotions.

You felt like a hand was clenching around your chest, your throat tight as you softly asked, "What _what_ felt like?"

He stopped and looked at you in surprise, almost as if he had forgotten you were even there. There was a long, quiet moment where he held your gaze, and you could see that he was contemplating his response. Your eyes silently pled with him to give you an honest answer, to throw you a bone of some sort.

"Being scared."

The quietly spoken words hit you like a kick to the solar plexus. Your brain was unsure how to process this, while your subconscious was slowly creeping closer towards the bed, eyes wide with a renewed spark of hope.

 _He had been scared?!_ You had never in your wildest dreams expected to hear those words come out of his mouth, especially not in regards to you, and _especially_ not after what he had said in the gardens. Negan might showcase a lot of emotions, but fear was never one of them. And, if that were true, if he had actually been afraid for your safety, to the point of dropping everything to bring his men out in the dark woods looking for you…well, then that _had_ to mean that he cared, at least a little. Right?

Negan's expression was mostly blank, but his eyes…you now realized that they were showcasing residual worry, and possibly even confusion. It made you feel a bit better to know that he most likely felt out of his depth in this situation, as well. That both of you were getting in over your head, together.

Wanting to reassure him in some way, to return his honesty with some of your own, you soothed, "I would've come back…I planned to just stay the night out there, and return in the morning. I needed time away, to think, after…after that night."

You could tell that Negan knew what you were referring to just by the expression on his face. The flickering flames in his eyes softened to a warm glow as he said the words you had secretly hoped to hear, but never thought you actually would.

"You're not a puppet, doll. Not even fucking close."

You knew it wasn't like Negan to take back his previous words, to admit that he had said something he didn't mean, especially since he valued honesty. The fact that he was willing to take back those words was more proof than any other type of apology of how much he regretted even saying them in the first place. His face appeared calm and nonchalant, but the fingers of his right hand had come up to fiddle with the zipper hanging from his open jacket, belying his appearance of indifference.

You decided that if he could push aside his pride long enough to admit that his harsh words from the other night weren't true, then you could own up and do the same. Nodding, you tried to keep the unexpected sting of tears at bay as you replied, "We both said some stupid things that night. I didn't mean what I said…about Ken. I was just…taken off guard, by the situation with Harry."

There was more you wanted to say, but you were also exhausted and overwhelmed, both physically and emotionally. And, judging from Negan's mud-streaked appearance and the dark circles under his eyes, you were pretty sure that he was also currently exhausted. You also were afraid that you might start crying, if you said anything more. Negan might not have spoken many words, or laid out a detailed apology, but there was so much meaning behind what he _had_ said, and you needed some time to process it all. It felt like there were still so many questions between the two of you, and yet, at the same time, this was also one of your most enlightening conversations to date. Who knew what that said about you and Negan's communication abilities, but hey, getting the Big Bad Wolf to admit he had actually been _scared_ , and for _you_ , was a huge confession.

As if he also realized what a milestone this was, and wasn't quite sure how he felt about it, Negan straightened his posture and curtly said, "It's late, and you need to rest. So how about we call it a fucking night?"

His words firmly reminded you of where you were currently located. Eyes widened and glanced frantically at the bed. Sure, it was huge, and there was plenty of space, but…

As if reading your internal thoughts, Negan gave a chuckle and said, "Relax, doll. I'll take the couch. You fucking snore, anyways."

Grateful not only for his words, but also for the way his demeanor appeared to relax, as he slipped back into playful Negan mode, you felt a grin pull at the edges of your mouth.

"I do not!" you scoffed, crossing your arms indignantly.

"So, does that mean you _do_ want me to join you?" he taunted, taking a step towards the bed.

You gripped the sheets tightly, trying to ignore the simmer of heat that started in your lower stomach at his words. How in the hell could you go from hating his guts a few hours ago, to being confused as hell when you first woke up, to now once again falling back into that exhilarating, and yet, frustrating place where you both wanted to smack him and kiss him at the same time?

"I take it back! I do snore, after all. Horribly loud, at that," you quipped.

Giving a slow smirk that put his dimples on full display, Negan sneered, "That's what I fucking thought."

Turning, he walked over to the armoire across from the bed. You watched as he pulled open a drawer and retrieved a white t-shirt and another pair of jeans, these ones a dark forest green and free of any mud streaks. He got halfway to the door before your mouth blurted out his name without checking with your brain first.

"Negan…"

He paused, turning to regard you curiously. You had wanted to say something profound, something to further solidify that the two of you were 'okay', but you also didn't want to push your luck. Especially since you had gotten out of this interrogation in much better emotional shape than you had originally expected, when he first threw that note on the bed. So, instead, you went with the safer route, and brought up something else that had been on your mind.

"In all seriousness, did you…I mean…" you gestured at your sheet-covered legs, lacking the appropriate words that wouldn't lead to your face flushing like a tomato.

Negan understood what you meant, because his lips curled upwards into a Cheshire cat grin. "I did. Simon grabbed a clean shirt from your room, since your other one was fucking covered in walker residue. I have no fucking clue how you get those jeans on, because they were a real bitch to peel off. And you were dead to the fucking world, which made it even more difficult. Hell, you didn't even wake up when I scrubbed your arms clean." He almost seemed in awe that you had stayed unconscious through such events, and you were honestly a little awed at yourself, as well. You must've knocked your head pretty good, to sleep through Negan stripping off your clothes.

 _So much for not blushing_ , you thought, face immediately flushing at the mental image of Negan changing and bathing you, while you were completely unaware of him doing so. Thank god he hadn't gone so far as to change your bra or underwear.

On cue with your thoughts, he glanced downwards at your sheet-covered body, and drawled, "I gotta say, I usually prefer my women to be in more lacy bits. But those blue panties? You sure do make 'em look fuckin' cute, doll."

With that, he gave you a quick wink and swaggered towards the door. Flustered, you gaped your mouth open and shut multiple times, trying to come up with a satisfying retort.

"Yea, well…maybe you should worry about bathing yourself, now!"

He turned at the open doorway, and taunted, "Oh no, doll. I don't mind being a little dirty from time to time."

Frowning at his teasing, you did the most immature thing possible: you stuck your tongue out at him.

You could hear Negan laughing even after he had firmly shut the door behind him, leaving you alone in his bed…while he slept only one room away.

Still propped up against the headboard, you sat there in the dim light of the chandelier and stared at the fireplace on the other side of the room. _What the actual fuck just happened?_ Perhaps you were still a bit loopy from the concussion, which would explain your current confusion. Shouldn't you still be mad at him, hate him, be cursing him to hell and back, after the emotional turmoil he put you through over the past week? Instead, your chest felt warm and fuzzy, and you were too tired and sore to muster up the energy needed to challenge such feelings. You could deal with it more in the morning, when you had rested and felt more yourself.

Scooching back down, so that your head lay on the decadently fluffy pillow, you stared at the closed door, trying not to imagine him getting changed and settling down on the leather couch just a few feet away. The pillow and bed sheets had a faintly masculine smell to them, which was strangely calming, and you closed your eyes with a sigh. Your brain was typing numbers into a calculator, trying to compute how the hell so much had changed between you and Negan in the last 24 hours. Meanwhile, your subconscious had snuggled under the covers beside you with a sigh, a dreamy smile on its face as it drifted off to sleep, content at last.


	36. A Steamy Surprise

****Author's Note: I know that The Sanctuary doesn't have running water in the show or comics, but hey, in ID world, it does :P****

Negan's bed was like being atop a cloud, causing you to sleep peacefully and undisturbed until morning. When you woke up, there was sunlight streaming through the large windows, beams of it scattered across the room. It was so comfortable, cuddled up under the sheets with the soft mattress underneath you and even softer pillow caressing your cheek, that it took a while to remember why you should be anything but calm and relaxed.

You were lying in Negan's bed, without pants, and had no idea how many people in the compound knew about you being here. The thoughts caused a small headache to start, and you groaned in frustration. Was it too much to ask, to just lie here peacefully? Apparently so, since your brain was hitting you with all kinds of various questions and concerns.

After last night, and the conversation between the two of you, was it possible that you and Negan were actually on the road to recovery, where your relationship was concerned? _Wait…relationship? Why would you call it that?_

You lay there, mulling the word over in your head. _Relationship_. You weren't sure if it really fit the situation, but then again, this was the apocalypse. And how exactly did one develop a relationship when the dead roamed the earth and every day could possibly be one's last? _And how do you develop a relationship with a man who already has five wives?_

Your brain was really starting to piss you off, and make your headache worse.

Pushing back the covers, you sat up in the bed, grateful that there was no dizziness or nausea. You actually felt a lot better than you had last night, minus the headache. And the events out in the woods were clearer now, including your fall. You guessed that you had tripped over a branch or log of some sort, and most likely smacked your head off a rock. You remembered fighting off a small herd of walkers, and being exhausted after doing so, due to lack of sleep, lack of food, and overall lack of emotional stability. So, while it might be a hit to your ego, it was really no surprise that you had been so off-kilter as to make a stupid mistake and fall. You were just lucky that the mistake hadn't been a fatal one.

Looking at the sheets, you saw that the note was still lying down by your legs. You picked it up, reading first one side of the note and then the other, before reaching over and laying it on the bedside table to deal with later. Right now, you had more pressing concerns…such as finding pants.

There was a black and grey wall clock, over near the door to the office, that showcased it was almost 9am. Most of the compound was probably already up and at 'em, doing their various tasks. You also would guess that Negan was awake, and possibly gone, but weren't completely sure. There was no noise coming from behind the closed door that led to his office, but that didn't mean he wasn't in there.

Swinging your legs off the side of the bed, you stood up and pulled the large top sheet off the bed. You wrapped the silky, crimson fabric around your waist multiple times, like a makeshift skirt, and walked hesitantly across the soft square carpet towards the door. Your left ankle was a tad sore, probably from where it had caught on the branch, and gave a tiny zing of pain with each step that was annoying but ignorable. When you reached the office door, you slowly opened it a few inches and stuck your head through…and found the room empty.

 _God damnit_ , you thought, and closed the door again. Why the hell couldn't Negan have at least had the decency to leave you a pair of pants? He had to have known that you would wake up and feel trapped in here, without any. In fact, you were almost certain he had done this on purpose, either just to be a cocky jerk, or because he didn't want you running off again.

Walking back across the room, you contemplated what to do next. You could always try to make a run for it, back to your bedroom. _Wearing Negan's bed sheets for everyone to see? Yea, right._

Walking over near the table and chairs, you saw that Negan's gloves were still lying on top of the smooth surface. Picking one up, you gave a tiny shiver at the feel of the buttery leather. Images of Negan's glove-covered fingers trailing across your arm, wrapped around your neck, and coasting down over your mound flashed through your mind, causing you to drop the glove back onto the table.

You glanced over at the dark, wooden armoire, where Negan had pulled out the dark green jeans last night. Perhaps, you could just borrow a pair of his pants, until you could get your own? Walking over to the large piece of furniture, you pulled open the same drawer, and struck gold. There were various pants in the drawer, all folded neatly. It felt strangely intimate to be looking at his clothing like this, and you quickly grabbed a pair of light grey sweatpants, which were lying on top, and shut the drawer.

Looking to the left of the armoire, you noticed a door that had previously never really caught your attention. You had vaguely known it was there, but had always assumed it was just a closet of sorts, and were usually too focused on interacting with Negan when in this room to give it much thought. However, now that you were alone, you found your curiosity piqued. If it was a closet, perhaps he had a robe of some sort in it, which would cover you up more. A robe would also look more ambiguous, and if you met anyone in the halls on the way back to your room, they might just assume you were coming back from the showering area. However, wearing a pair of Negan's pants would look much more obviously out of place, since they would be so long and baggy on you. But, it was bad enough to open one of Negan's drawers and steal a pair of sweatpants…did you dare open up his closet and go through his things, as well?

 _If he had left you a pair of your own pants, you wouldn't have to go through his things_ , your subconscious said, seeming more assertive and sure of itself than it had been all week.

Decision made, you stepped up to the door, tucked the sweatpants under your arm, and turned the metal knob. When the door opened, your jaw promptly dropped open in shock.

It wasn't a closet, after all. It was a _private bathroom_.

Stepping hesitantly across the threshold, any thoughts of finding a robe forgotten, you took in this new discovery. Clean, grey-tiled floors and walls showcased a bathroom fit for a king. The large sink was made from a chocolate-colored wood, and you walked over to stare at your reflection in the large, rectangular mirror that was above it. You took in the slight bags under your eyes and the thin layer of grime that was still stuck to your face. Your hair had either fallen out of its bun, or Negan had taken it down when he changed your clothes last night, and it was currently snarling over your shoulders, all knotted and dirty from lying on the ground out in the woods. You stood there, staring at your reflection and debating your next move. Deciding that the temptation of getting clean was greater than running back to your room, you closed the bathroom door, locked it, and let the bed sheet fall to the floor.

You laid the folded sweatpants on the shiny sink countertop, then walked towards the shower, which had darker grey tiles and was big enough to fit a small orgy. The thought made you wonder if Negan had indeed ever had an orgy with his wives in here, but then you remembered that they weren't allowed in his bedroom, which meant they probably couldn't access the bathroom, either. Opening the large glass door, you pulled off your clothes, tossed them to the floor, and stepped inside the massive shower.

Turning the knobs, you gasped in satisfaction as hot water flowed out and hit your body. The water in the public showering rooms would get lukewarm, but not overly hot. However, the water that came out of Negan's shower was so hot that you had to fumble with the knobs to make it a bit cooler. As if it wasn't unfair enough that he had a huge, fancy bedroom and huge, private bathroom, he also had scalding hot water. _Perks of being the leader_ , your subconscious commented.

There was a rack of showering products underneath the showerhead, and you reached out for the bottle of liquid body wash. Popping open the cap, you inhaled as a spicy yet woodsy smell drifted out, like cinnamon sprinkled over cedar. It smelled like Negan, which both made you smile and clench your thighs in desire. You put a dollop of the liquid into your palm and lathered it up, before coating your entire body in the masculine scent.

Reaching up, you plucked the showerhead from its base and ran it up and down your body, sighing as the warm water washed away the suds. Once fully rinsed, you replaced the showerhead and turned to grab the shampoo, hoping that Negan wouldn't mind too much that you were stealing some of his products. _He probably has an entire bin full of replacements somewhere around here_ , your subconscious hushed, too blissed-out from this delicious experience to worry.

Negan's shampoo smelled minty and clean, a refreshing smell that offset the stronger scent of the body wash perfectly. You lathered up your hair, careful to be gentle with the back of your scalp, which was still tender from the fall. You stood under the warm spray of water until long after the shampoo was gone from your hair, then reached for the conditioner. You almost laughed at the realization that it was the same brand and corresponding smell as the shampoo. Only Negan would have matching products.

When your hair was conditioned and rinsed, you finally turned off the water and opened the door to grab one of the large, fluffy grey towels that were folded neatly in a pile on a nearby counter. They were thick and luxurious, and this entire showering experience was like the pre-apocalypse equivalent of going to a fancy spa. Drying off your body, before wrapping the towel around your hair, you retrieved your clothes from their pile on the floor and put on the bra and light blue t-shirt. You really wished that you could put on a fresh pair of underwear, but that would have to wait until you returned to your own room. Not wanting to put the dirty pair back on, you hesitated, contemplating, before giving a mental 'fuck it' and pulling on Negan's sweatpants, sans panties. They were surprisingly comfortable, although you had to roll up the cuffs a few times so that they weren't dragging on the ground.

Walking over to the sink, you scanned the countertop. There was a dish with bar soap on it, and a toothbrush holder, which held a singular, white and blue toothbrush, with a tube of toothpaste beside it. You were impressed to see that the toothpaste was neatly rolled up at the bottom, rather than randomly squeezed and mangled in the middle. Realizing how ridiculous it was to care how Negan used his toothpaste, you jerked your gaze away and focused on the rows of drawers on the front of the sink. Opening the top left drawer, you gazed at the contents, which included a straight razor and some shaving cream, but not what you were looking for.

Opening the next drawer, you smiled in victory at the discovery of a comb. It was lying beside a jar of the pomade that Negan must use to slick back his dark locks. Unwinding the towel from your hair, you refolded and set it on the sink countertop before starting to work the comb through the knots and snags in your hair. When you were satisfied, and all snarls and loose hair had been discarded in the small, off-white trashcan, you replaced the comb, grabbed the panties, and picked up the bed sheet, which was still lying in front of the door. Unlocking and opening the door, you stepped out into the cooler bedroom, the locked-up steam from the hot shower escaping with you.

You stopped dead at the sight of Negan sitting at the table, in the chair facing you. _Well, shit._

You stood there awkwardly, waiting to see if he would be pissed that you had gone snooping around his room and used his private bathroom. He was leaning back in the chair, arms crossed over his broad chest, which was clad only in the white t-shirt he had grabbed from the armoire last night. His eyes scanned up and down your body, and his face and voice were devoid of emotion as he asked, "Are those my fucking pants?"

Clenching the sheet, you scanned his face, trying to read his expression. Unsure whether he was pissed, in a good mood, or still deciding, you deadpanned, "I couldn't find my own."

He nodded, hooded eyes scanning down over your body again, slower this time, inspecting what wasn't hidden by the sheet that was balled up in your fists. His expression was still flat, but you were almost certain his eyes were twinkling as he took in your appearance.

"How's your head feel?" he questioned casually.

"It's a bit tender, but otherwise alright," you answered honestly.

"Any dizzy spells or nausea?" he pressed.

"Nope, not since last night," you replied. Although his affect was neutral, you knew that he was asking these questions to assess if you were capable of leaving his room and being on your own. You were touched that he seemed to care, but also, you were craving some privacy, back in your own room, to process everything.

Unfurling himself from the chair, Negan stood up to his impressive height and put out his arm, showcasing the table in invitation. It was then that you saw there was a tray on the table, which held a bowl of what appeared to be oatmeal, along with a glass of water. He had brought you breakfast.

Your subconscious was squealing at his kind gesture, while your brain reminded you firmly that you were indeed hungry, and needed to eat. Your stomach chimed in with its own gurgle in support of this idea. It wasn't until you were well-rested, clean, and had pants on, that you finally let yourself realize just how ravenous you were. Suddenly, the plain and boring oatmeal sounded extra appetizing, and you wanted nothing more than to dig in.

Moving towards the bed, meaning to put down the sheet, Negan instead reached out and took the crimson mass from your hands before saying, "Sit and eat, doll. You took so fucking long in the bathroom that it's probably cold til now."

You sat down at the table, picking up the spoon and unceremoniously shoveling a dollop of oatmeal into your mouth, not even caring what temperature it was. You watched curiously as Negan walked over to the side of the bed and shook out the bundled sheet. Holding onto one end, he jerked his arms upwards, causing the sheet to expand and float up over the mattress before settling down across the wide expanse. You saw a small wad of fabric go shooting straight up in the air when he had jerked the sheet, before landing on the floor at the foot of the bed.

Negan walked over and picked up the ball of light blue fabric, shaking it out. You choked on your mouthful of oatmeal at the realization that he was holding your panties. You had completely forgotten that you had been holding them with the sheet, due to being distracted by Negan's appearance and the oatmeal.

Coughing loudly, you reached for the glass of water and gulped frantically to clear your airway. When you were finally able to breathe, and more composed, you saw that Negan was still standing there holding your underwear up in front of him. He was staring at them thoughtfully, and you felt your face burn with heat, wishing the floor would just open up and swallow you whole.

Negan's gaze lifted, pinning you to the chair as he huskily asked, "Doll…are you wearing my pants without any fucking panties?"

If there was a god left in this universe, the humane thing for them to do would be to strike you down right then and there. Just one lightning bolt would be all it would take to put you out of your misery. Sadly, there was no divine intervention, and your face was fire-engine red as you squeaked, "Maybe?"

Negan continued to stare, trapping your gaze with his own, and you vehemently wished you knew what he was thinking. However, from the way his eyes were searing into you, the pupils dilating and a muscle in the side of his jaw ticking, you were pretty sure you had a good idea of how he was reacting to the discovery. You wanted to lower your eyes and check the front of his pants, but knew that you would have massive heart failure if you saw physical evidence of how much your panty-less state affected him.

Negan cleared his throat and tossed the underwear down onto the mattress, before walking calmly past you and towards the bathroom. Opening the door, his voice was raspy as he threw back over his shoulder, "Finish eating, and I'll walk you back to your room when I'm done."

With that, he closed the door, and a minute later you heard the sound of water running, signaling that he was also taking a shower. Standing up, you darted over to the bed and grabbed the panties off the mattress, tucking them down the front of your t-shirt and into your bra. You really wanted to just bolt back to your room, especially since you noticed that your boots were now sitting at the foot of the bed, courtesy of Negan. They were nice and clean, devoid of any dirt or scuffs from being outside. Grabbing them and walking back over to the chair, you slid them on, not even caring that you didn't have on any socks, then turned to finish the bowl of oatmeal.

You tried not to envision Negan showering on the other side of the door, really you did. However, your brain wasn't cooperating, and mental images of him in that large shower, naked, filtered through your mind. You imagined him using the same body wash and shampoo you had used, imagined him standing barefoot and naked in the same exact place you had been just minutes before. How the water would trail over his big, muscular body, chasing away the suds and caressing all that tan expanse of flesh, the same way you imagined caressing him with your fingers and tongue…

The sound of the water shutting off brought you back to reality. You fidgeted in your chair, trying to arrange yourself into a relaxed position, one that would say "I totally wasn't thinking about you naked just now." Giving up, you stood from the chair and walked over by the foot of the bed, feeling a bit more in control when on your feet.

A couple minutes later, Negan walked out of the bathroom in his own cloud of steam…and he was shirtless.

He had put the dark green jeans back on, along with his boots, but from the waist up, it was all skin. Finding yourself unable to look away, you took in his broad shoulders, muscular chest, and flat stomach. A layer of salt-and-pepper chest hair started at his chest and trailed down over his long torso before disappearing into the waistband of his jeans. He had a tattoo on his left pec, which looked like bandana-wearing skull in front of crisscrossed rifles. The multiple tattoos on his arms were also visible. You had wondered more times than you cared to admit what he would look like without a shirt on, and now, your hypothesis was confirmed.

He was utterly, and completely…sexy as _fuck_.

You continued to stare as he walked over to the armoire, seemingly unaware of the fact that you were currently turning into a large pile of drool. He turned away to open one of the armoire drawers, giving you a first-class view of his muscular, tan back, which was broad at the shoulders and tapered down to his waist like an inverted triangle. For someone so long and lean, he still showcased a fair amount of muscle. Your brain was busy short-circuiting, while your subconscious lay on the floor, passed out from excitement.

He pulled another one of the generic, white t-shirts out of the armoire and pulled it up over his head, effectively ending your appraisal of his half-naked form. He then turned to you, hair wet and slicked back off his face, his expression calmer now than it had been before, when he was holding your underwear. However, you saw his eyes flicker over to the spot on the bed where he had left the panties, before they roamed back down your body, as if he was trying to figure out if you had put them back on or not.

Meeting your gaze, he simply asked, "You ready?"

 _Oh, what a loaded question_ , your subconscious cooed, revived, but still stretched out on the floor.

Afraid that you would start blushing again, you gave a simple nod in response and turned to precede him out of the bedroom. You really hoped that you hadn't made an obvious wet spot in the crotch of his pants with your body's unabashed reaction to his bare flesh. When you entered the office, Negan walked over to the desk, grabbing his leather jacket off the back of the chair and shrugging it over his shoulders. You watched as the t-shirt strained over his chest and stomach as he put the jacket on. He left the jacket unzipped, and forewent the scarf, which was folded on his desk, in favor of grabbing Lucille from where she was leaning against the wall and giving her a twirl before he walked back over to you.

He opened the door and allowed you to walk out into the hallway first, before the two of you started down the hallway together, side by side. The moment took you back to the last time he had walked you back to your room. It had been the night you drank Jameson together…the night Negan had started to open up and show you the man underneath the Broadway show. Over the past 24 hours, you had seen more of what kind of man was laying underneath, both emotionally and physically, and you were still trying to cope with those discoveries. You had a lot to think about, you both did, but for right now, it was nice to try and pretend like things were the same as before. Like you both hadn't said those hurtful things in the garden…like Negan hadn't confessed to feeling worry and fear for you, and hinted that he did indeed care, possibly more than you had ever realized. _No, you're not going to think about that right now. Not until he's out of sight and you can lock yourself away in your room and process it all._

You both walked down the staircase to your floor, and thankfully only passed two young men in the hall, both of whom looked at you and Negan curiously. You vehemently hoped they hadn't noticed that your pants were too baggy and long to be your own, as they instead seemed preoccupied with falling to their knees as the two of you walked by.

When you reached the door to your room, you turned the knob and opened the door a crack before turning to Negan. A small smile curved your lips as you looked up at him and truthfully said, "Thank you."

He mirrored your grin with one of his own, eyes twinkling as he purred, "You're welcome, doll."

You watched as he turned with a wink and gave his signature swagger back down the hall, twirling Lucille over his shoulder and whistling, just like the last time he had dropped you off.

However, you should've known that this wasn't going to be the same as last time, and that things had been going way too smoothly this morning. That hoping for a peaceful and quiet moment to yourself would be too much to ask. Pushing the door open the rest of the way, it wasn't until you stepped into your bedroom that you noticed you weren't alone.

There, sitting on the edge of your bed, face showcasing both worry and relief, was Ben.


	37. Trust & Friendship

****Author's Note: Hey y,all! I know that this update has been a while in coming. I got super busy over the holidays, and work has been extra exhausting lately. When it gets cold out, we get a lot more clients (I work at an agency that's affiliated with recovery houses) since people want shelter from the weather. So I've been extra busy with new clients at work, and by the time I get home at the end of the day, the last thing my brain wants to do is write, after all the paperwork I have to write at work. I just wanted to let y'all know that I never plan on abandoning this story until it is finished. Even if that means taking mini hiatuses like this last one, I still will come back to the story. It's my baby at this point, so I won't let it go until it's 100% done lol.**

 **With that being said, here's the next chapter. Enjoy!****

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Ben stood up from the bed as you closed the door behind you. His hair looked a bit tangled, and there were dark circles under his eyes, as if he hadn't slept. You felt a jolt of guilt at the thought of him waiting up all night for confirmation that you were okay, while you were snuggled cozily in Negan's big bed.

Speaking of which, Ben had to have heard you thanking Negan, and so would know that he had escorted you back here. Not to mention, you were still dressed in Negan's light grey, baggy sweatpants, which were obviously too big, and tucked unfashionably into your knee-high, black boots. There was also the fact that you still had wet hair from the shower…and panties stuffed in your bra.

Thankfully, Ben didn't seem to notice any of this. Instead, he came across the room and stopped in front of you. Gently placing his hands on your shoulders, he held you at arm's length and scanned up and down your body, as if looking for visible injuries.

"Are you alright? Are you hurt?" he asked worriedly.

Reaching up to lay your hand on top of one of his, you reassured, "I'm fine. Just fell down out in the woods, bumped my head like a moron, and got a mild concussion. Dr. Carson said I'll be a-okay."

Ben asked a couple more questions about the concussion, such as if you were taking any medication (no) and if you were to be on bedrest (also no). You were sure that if Dr. Carson had given any recommendations for bedrest, that Negan never would've let you leave his room. So even though you hadn't talked to Dr. Carson directly, you acted as if you had, to calm Ben's worry.

Once he seemed satisfied that there were no mortal wounds, Ben's eyes focused on your lower half, as if he was only now taking in your appearance. His brows furrowed as he slowly asked, "Are those...are those Negan's pants?"

Trying really hard not to blush, you stared at a point over Ben's left shoulder and gave a half-shrug, half-nod of affirmation.

"You spent the night with him, didn't you?"

Your gaze jerked back to Ben's face at that, and you could tell by his expression that he already knew the answer, but wanted to hear you say it. Nodding again, you replied, "Yea, I did. But only so that he could make sure my concussion didn't get worse. And he slept in his office, on the couch." You weren't sure why you felt the need to add that last part, but you did anyways.

Ben's lips curled up slightly on one side in amusement. "You made Negan sleep on the couch?"

Giving a slight smile back, you confirmed, "Yep. Did you really think I'd have stayed if he hadn't?"

Ben gave his signature boyish grin in response and chuckled, "Only you could kick the king off of his throne for the night."

Tilting your head slightly, you scanned Ben's face, trying to figure out what exactly he meant by that. He stared back, brows raising expectantly, as if waiting for you to respond. When you instead opted for silence, he gave a small sigh and walked back across the room to sit on the edge of your bed. You felt the air in the room shift, and knew that the next question out of Ben's mouth wasn't going to be one you wanted to answer.

Wanting to turn around and leave, but having nowhere else to go, at the moment, you walked over to the bed and sat down beside him. Curling your legs up on the mattress in a comfortable position, you settled in for what was probably going to be a doozy of a conversation.

"So, what happened last night?" Ben asked, his body turned towards you and gaze half hidden behind the wisps of hair that had fallen in front of his eyes. His voice lowered almost to a whisper as he added, "Why did you leave?"

Unable to maintain eye contact, you glanced to the left of Ben, eyes landing on your bedside table. Looking at it reminded you that you had forgotten to grab the note, which was probably still on Negan's own bedside table. You wondered what he would do with it, when he found it…

Forcing your thoughts away from the note, you sat there silently, considering how much to tell Ben. A large part of you wanted to tell him everything, but that tiny part, which was still scared, held you back. Instead, your brain was frantically trying to categorize which details were necessary, and which could be omitted.

As if he knew exactly what you were doing, Ben reached out and laid one of his hands on your own, where it rested on your knee. Bringing your gaze back to his, you saw that his expression was determined when he said, "I don't want any lies this time. I know something is going on with you, and that it involves Negan. If you don't trust me, then just say so, and I'll leave you alone. But don't treat me like I'm an idiot by giving me more excuses and half-truths."

Much as you didn't want to hear those words, Ben was right. You had jerked him around long enough, and it was time to decide if he was trustworthy or not. And you found that it didn't take much thought for you to realize that you did indeed trust him…but struggled to show it. It was so much easier for you to throw up emotional walls with everyone and keep them at a safe distance. You had even done so with Maria, despite surviving out in the woods together and knowing her for longer than anyone else at the Sanctuary. However, you justified it in your mind by saying that it had been smart not to 100% let her in, since she was now one of Negan's wives. While you trusted her with more information than most people, there was still that part of you that wondered, if push came to shove, whether or not she would choose the other wives over you.

Ben, on the other hand, had consistently been on your side, since the moment you arrived here. He had taken you under his wing on the very first day, when you had been assigned to the kitchen, and acted as a mentor of sorts. In fact, you had always wondered if he had put in a good word for you with Negan, since it was unheard of for someone to be promoted so quickly on a job, let alone the fact that you had went from dish washer to head of the kitchen in less than a month. You had never asked him, since you knew he would shrug it off or deny it, but you were certain that Ben had had your back, and defended you, since the moment you walked into the Sanctuary.

He had offered you loyalty and friendship…even though you hadn't fully given it back. But now, you wanted to finally meet him halfway. If it hadn't been for him and Negan, you could still be lost in the woods, or even dead. Opening up fully to Negan wasn't something you were ready to do, yet. Especially since you were still processing everything that had happened in his room, and still weren't sure how you felt about his more sadistic side. However, you did feel able to finally open up to Ben, and prove to him (and yourself) that you were capable of trusting him. You would put yourself out there, tell him what was going on, and if that was the final straw for him, and made him turn his back on you…whelp, better to know now.

"I think it's probably best if I start at the beginning," you suggested, relieved when he only nodded in response and waited patiently for you to start speaking.

Taking a deep breath, you dove in…and told him everything. You began with your solo outings in the woods, and how you had bartered extra food in exchange for Dwight letting you past the fences. You then discussed your initial meeting with Negan, when he saved you from the walker, and how that interaction snowballed into your current situation.

Unlike Maria, Ben didn't just listen silently, with little expression. He asked you to clarify on some parts, and commented on others. His eyes were big as saucers when you told him about that first meeting in Negan's office, and the kiss that had resulted. He laughed and gave you a high five when you told him about beating Negan at chess, which caused you to relax more, your shoulders losing their hunch and the words coming out less shaky and rapid. Both of you got a chuckle out of the discovery of Trixie and Dwight in the showers, and Ben just shook his head and gave a soft, "Wow."

You felt a little awkward when discussing the second outing in the woods, and didn't go into massive detail about just how intimate you and Negan had gotten against that tree, before Dwight interrupted. And when you got to the part about the confrontation in the gardens, relaying what Negan had told you, including the part where he had called you a 'puppet', Ben glowered and muttered, "Fucking dick," under his breath.

You skimmed over the last week and how upset you had been, not wanting to focus too much on that, for fear it would resurface old emotions. But, of course, Ben seemed able to fill in the gaps anyways, and his expression showcased empathy and compassion. When you felt tears start to form, and tried to apologize to him for leaving without saying anything, for worrying him, he reached over and put his hand on your knee in comfort.

"It's okay," he reassured softly. "I understand."

Nodding, you brushed a hand across your eyes to clear them, and continued on. You told him about your encounter with the walkers in the woods, some parts of which were still slightly fuzzy, and how you fell and knocked yourself out. Ben's eyebrows lifted in surprise when you told him how Negan had carried you back to camp, where you had then woken up in his bed. Blushing a little, you hesitated, unsure if you should tell Ben about what Negan had confessed last night. Negan would be pissed if he found out Ben knew about him feeling such a vulnerable human emotion of fear. However, you wanted feedback from Ben, truly wanted to hear his thoughts on the situation, and so it was only fair that he know about this newest development.

After you had told him about the conversation last night, and Negan's admission, you tried to end on a more playful note, by telling him about Negan's bathroom. "The jerk has a huge shower with _hot_ water! And the towels! I haven't felt towels that decadent in years."

Ben grinned and rolled his eyes. "Of course, he would have fluffy towels. Dude probably has his own private masseuse and spa somewhere around here too."

You both chuckled at this, before lapsing into silence. Fighting not to twist your hands nervously, you watched Ben, who seemed to be deep in thought. He was tracing a circular pattern on the bedsheet with his index finger, with eyes cast downward.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, he met your gaze with his own and calmly asked, "Do you love him?"

Those four simple words shot through you like a bullet, jerking your body and widening your eyes in shock. Your brain was hyperventilating while trying to gather data that would either confirm or deny Ben's question. Meanwhile, your subconscious was sitting with demurely crossed legs and downcast eyes. It was so silent and still that it appeared like a statue, as if afraid any movement or noise would frighten you…would cause you to run.

"I…" you paused, completely at a loss. Frustrated, you stood up from the bed and paced across the room, running a shaky hand through your wet hair.

 _Why is this question freaking you out so much? Just say no, and be done with it._

Ben also stood up from the bed, but didn't approach. He was analyzing your face, and you had no clue what it was that he saw, but it made him give you a sad smile. For some reason, his response pissed you off, and your voice was low and quivering with both anger and the threat of tears, when you growled, "Don't you dare look at me like that."

"Like what?" he asked softly.

"Like you pity me!"

Ben dropped his gaze to the floor at your words, and he shook his head slowly, while saying, "I don't pity you…I'm scared for you."

You rocked back on your heels at this; it wasn't at all the response you had been expecting. "Scared? Why the hell would you be scared? I learned my lesson about running out into the woods on my own, so trust me, I won't be doing that again anytime soon."

Lifting his gaze, Ben still avoided eye contact, instead staring at a point over your left shoulder. He gave a sigh and said, "That's not what I'm scared about. I want to know what happens from this point forward? Where do you see this going? After last night, people are going to start speculating, more so than before. And sure, he might be intrigued by you now…heck, it sounds like he actually likes _you_ and not just your appearance…but, what happens when his interest wears off? Men like Negan are always looking for more, for the next beautiful challenge to show up and spark their interest.So what happens when he decides he's worn you down to his liking, and he finds a shiny new toy to play with? Where does that leave you, and your emotions?"

You physically jerked at the words "new toy", glaring at Ben and willing him to look at you. Had his words just been a coincidence, or had he purposely used that phrase to get a reaction out of you? And fucking hell, if you were being honest, he wasn't alone in his concerns. They were ones that you had wondered yourself, and hadn't been able to answer. But Negan had told you just last night that you weren't a toy, after all. Did he mean it? Or was Ben right, and you were just the current shiny object, the intriguing challenge that kept him entertained…for now.

There were too many thoughts and emotions going through your head, so you just shrugged and stared down at your feet while whispering, "I don't know…I have no fucking clue."

The silence stretched, and you raised your head to see that Ben was finally making eye contact, his face void of any visible emotion. Taking a few steps closer, so that he was standing right in front of you, he gazed down at you and sincerely said, "Well, whatever you decide to do, whether it's continuing this…thing, with Negan, or telling him to go to hell in a handbasket, just know that I'm here for you. And that I will risk the iron and Lucille to kick his ass all over this compound if he hurts you again."

His words caused a small smile to form on your lips, and your chest felt warm and fuzzy at the realization that Ben wasn't going to abandon you, or even condemn or judge you. He was, as usual, staying by your side and being supportive. If your voice sounded a little shaky and your eyes felt a little watery, you ignored them, in favor of saying, "I don't know what I did to deserve a friend like you, but thank you."

Smiling, Ben huffed out a small laugh, and replied, "You really need to think more of yourself, sometimes. There are plenty of people who would skin me alive in order to take my spot as your friend."

"Not Trixie," you fired back.

Giving a real laugh this time, Ben agreed, "No, definitely not Trixie."

If you had known that you would feel this relieved by unloading everything onto Ben, you would've done so sooner. It was as if a weight had been lifted off your shoulders. Sure, there was still a lot going on and a lot to consider, regarding Negan, but knowing that you could confide in Ben made you breathe a little easier.

Deciding that it was now time for _you_ to ask a question, you inquired, "Negan told me about you finding the note and alerting him to me being missing, but…how many other people do you think know what happened?"

Some of that earlier weight settled back on your shoulders at the look on Ben's face. He avoided eye contact again, causing you to step closer and say, "Ben? How many know?"

He closed his eyes for a few seconds before looking at you, and honestly replying, "Probably all of them."

Your mouth dropped open in shock, and you echoed, "All of them?"

"When Negan and a group of Saviors went out into the woods looking for you, he also had the group, that stayed behind, search the compound. They went door to door, asking if anyone had seen you. The whole community was buzzing about it, until we got the announcement late last night that you had been found and were safe. I tried to come see you, but Simon intercepted me and said I had to wait until the doctor gave you the clear to return to your room. I'm not sure if everyone knows you were in Negan's quarters, or if they assumed you were in medical. But I think it's safe to say that they all found Negan's response to the situation to be…a bit out of character."

 _Fuck, fuck fuck…_

You could feel panic starting to creep in, as you wondered how the hell you were going to deal with this situation. You had the strongest urge to go find Negan, to let him take control and fix the problem by ordering everyone to ignore the situation had ever happened. Much as you wanted to be angry at Ben, for alerting Negan to your disappearance, you knew that he had reacted out of fear and concern. And, in all actuality, it was Negan's reaction that had caused the whole compound to find out, even if said reaction was also apparently out of fear and concern. You wondered if he, at all, regretted making such a show out of the situation, since it was quite possible people would insinuate it to mean that he might care about you…

Ben snapped his fingers in front of your face, effectively drawing you away from your racing thoughts and back to the present. You had been subconsciously rubbing your fingers against your temples, the slight headache from this morning elevating in intensity as a result of stress.

Ben gently took you by the arm and guided you back across the room to the bed. "We'll figure out a way to deal with it, or just tell people it's none of their damn business, if they ask questions. Right now, you need some rest. Dinner prep is at 2, and your meal plan says tonight is veggie lasagna. If you don't feel able to come join us, just stay here and relax."

Nodding, you assured Ben that you would be there for prep. He was right about you needing rest; both your emotions and the residual concussion were causing you to feel exhausted, despite just waking up a couple hours ago.

Ben gave a mock salute, causing you to grin, and quietly left. Now it was just you and your thoughts, which were still jumbled and all over the place. Unzippering and pulling off the boots, then removing the panties from your bra and throwing them in the bin of dirty clothes, you crawled underneath the covers. Reaching over, you pulled the watch out of the bedside table drawer, the digital letters reading 11:24am. Setting the alarm for 1:30pm, you laid it on the table beside your head and rolled over to get more comfortable. You fell asleep within minutes, Negan's pants still on your legs and a million thoughts still racing around in your head.


	38. Just A Tray?

The incessant beeping of the alarm woke you up out of a dreamless sleep, and you reached out to grab blindly at the bedside table for the watch, not yet wanting to open your eyes and deal with reality. Rubbing at your temples, you noticed that you still had a slight headache, but that it seemed a bit less intense than this morning, which was hopefully a good sign. You hadn't felt any nausea since waking up in Negan's bed last night, and besides feeling constantly exhausted, and also having some soreness in your ankle, you felt, physically, fine.

Now, emotionally…that was a whole other story. There was still so much swirling around your head, in regards to Negan. Rather than sit and try to sort out your feelings about everything, you took the easier route: denial.

Getting out of bed, you walked over to the crates holding your belongings and stripped off Negan's sweatpants. Folding them into a neat pile, you gave them a quick sniff. They still smelled clean, and in fact, you swore that there was a small hint of Negan's fragrance lingering on them. Bringing them closer to your nose and inhaling again, a small smile tipped your lips at the masculine scent.

Realizing what you were doing, the smile flew from your face as you quickly tossed the pants into a crate. _Dear god, you've become that person who steals her boyfriend's clothing and creepily smells it…wait…BOYFRIEND?_

Slamming down the gates on that train of thought, you mentally slapped your brain upside the head and told it to focus on getting dressed. Your subconscious was loving this; it bounced excitedly on the edge of the bed and giggled with glee.

After (finally) putting on some underwear, you grabbed the pair of jeans with the slit in the thigh. Negan still had your other pair, and you made a mental note to make a pants trade-off with him in the near future.

Although some of the strands were still a little damp from where you had been lying on them, you gathered your hair up into your signature bun, before grabbing the purple watch and clasping it around your wrist. Putting on socks and sneakers, you took one final glance at yourself in the mirror before heading out the door and down to the kitchen.

You paused after entering the cafeteria, slightly unwilling to go forward. You were nervous to see the staff, not knowing how they were going to react to your presence. It had only been 24 hours since you were last in here, but so much had happened in that short period of time. Perhaps, you should've taken the day off, after all.

Shaking your head to clear it, you took a deep breath and muttered a half-hearted, "You got this," before crossing the large cafeteria and pushing through the doors to the kitchen.

Ben was there, of course, as was most of the other scheduled staff. They were already washing up and moving to their designated areas to start dinner prep. When they heard the doors swing open, they glanced up, pausing when they saw that it was you.

They stared silently for a few moments, and you stared back, uncertain how to proceed. Then, as if the movement was choreographed, they all walked towards you at once. Each one of them started spouting different questions in your direction.

"Are you alright?"

"We heard you were unconscious in the woods!"

"Were you kidnapped?!"

They half surrounded you with their excitement, and you felt the low throb of your headache start to elevate at the overload of stimuli. Suddenly, a sharp whistle cut through the questions, silencing them abruptly. Looking over at the source of the noise, you saw Ben lower two fingers from his mouth, before announcing, "Alright folks, let's give her some space. This isn't an interrogation."

They all backed up a step or two, but still had eager expressions on their faces. Well, all of them except Trixie, who you now noticed was standing off to the side of the group and watching your face closely, as if she could read your inner thoughts.

Chewing on your bottom lip nervously, you tried to think of what to say to all of them. Since honesty had worked well enough with Ben this morning, you decided to try doing so again. Well…perhaps you wouldn't be _quite_ as honest with them as you had been with Ben, but you would still try to be truthful.

"I, uh…I decided to sneak past the guards and go for a walk out in the woods last night, to get some fresh air and clear my head. I know I was acting a bit…strange, lately. I just needed to get out and walk around a bit, and get my thoughts together."

At this, you gave an embarrassed grin, and added, "But, I ran into a few walkers out in the woods, and while I was killing the last one, I fell and knocked myself out."

Andrew, the young man who was roommates with the newly ironed Harry, piped up, "Is it true that Negan found you?"

You fought not to fidget or look guilty at the question, despite it being the truth. Chances were that it wasn't a huge secret Negan had been out in the woods with his men, so you didn't see the need to lie about it.

"Well, technically, Dwight and Simon found me. But Negan was there too, yea. They brought me back to the compound late last night, and Dr. Carson looked at my head. Thankfully, I just gave myself a slight concussion."

Trixie, who had previously been silent and watchful, stepped forward and interjected, "You're skipping the part about what happened after they brought you back. Word through the grapevine is that you spent the night in Negan's bedroom."

Looking at Ben, you saw his eyes widen slightly in surprise at Trixie being privy to this information. A few other staff members gave small gasps and started murmuring to one another. You took these reactions to mean that your overnighter in Negan's bedroom wasn't common knowledge, which meant that Trixie had heard it from someone else. You'd bet half your points that it was Dwight who had told her. You had been worried about what punishment Negan was planning to bestow on Dwight, but now you almost thought he deserved it, the rat.

"Well…yes…I needed to stay under surveillance for a bit, to make sure my concussion wasn't serious." You knew that the reply was obviously delayed, and that you looked as taken off guard as you felt, but you still wouldn't give Trixie the satisfaction of backing yourself into a corner by lying about it.

Trixie flipped her ponytail over her shoulder while scoffing, "And Negan's bedroom is a better place for surveillance than the med station?"

 _You should've drowned her in the showers the other week, when you had the chance,_ your subconscious hissed, practically growling in menace and lunging towards Trixie, while your brain had a firm hand on the back of its shirt to keep it restrained.

Thankfully, Ben sensed that this conversation couldn't go anywhere positive, so he quickly interjected, "I'd say that's a good question to ask Negan directly, since he's the one who made the decision. Our poor ol' boss, here, was so out of it, I'm sure she didn't even realize where she was, let alone, think to question why she was there."

Grateful, once again, for Ben's support, you nodded in agreement, and added, "Exactly."

Trixie's stare burned into your own, but you could tell that she was silenced…for the time being.

Another staff member hesitantly asked, "So…you're okay now?"

You gave the group a slight smile. "I have a bit of a headache, but otherwise, I'm good as gold."

Another voice, Andrew's this time, replied, "So…that's it? I mean, not to be rude or anything, but we all saw what Negan did to Harry, and he just accidentally fell asleep on the job. What if he decides to punish you for leaving, to make another example to the rest of the compound?"

More murmurs, this time a bit more rushed and anxious, spread among the group.

Since Andrew's question was one you had been asking yourself since last night, it wasn't hard for you to honestly shrug and say, "I have no clue. I guess, if Negan plans on punishing me, I'll find out about it in the near future."

Stretching your lips into a small smile, you added, "But, until then, this dinner isn't going to cook itself. So, whataya all say, should we get started?"

A couple staff members mirrored your smile and nodded. Trixie had a scowl on her face, while Ben gave a cheerful grin that seemed half-hearted, even to you. Most of the staff still looked nervous and uncertain, but you couldn't blame them. Your responses to their questions hadn't exactly provided a lot of closure to the situation, but hey, at least you'd been fairly honest with them. Hopefully, that worked in your favor.

0 – 0 – 0 – 0 – 0

Two and a half hours later, and dinner was in full swing. The menu was, as Ben had told you earlier, veggie lasagna. There were also freshly baked rolls to go with it, and the smell of melted mozzarella and tangy tomato sauce floated around the kitchen, along with the homey smell of freshly baked bread. Trixie and another girl were just taking the first rounds of rolls out to the cafeteria, while three more staff members were gathering together plates of lasagna to serve.

The first round of diners were about to be fed, and you were just pulling another pan of lasagna out of the oven, when the kitchen doors swung open, and your staff went dead silent. You knew this response could only mean one thing: Negan was here.

Placing the pan of lasagna on the stovetop before turning to look at him, you discovered that you were less surprised by his presence and more surprised by the fact that you had almost been expecting him to show up. And damn, did he ever look good standing there with his signature jacket, dark jeans, and Lucille in her rightful place over his shoulder. Maybe it was because you hadn't really interacted with him as much lately, and so were in a bit of withdrawal from the past week, but your hormones were jumping all over the place at the sight of him. Or maybe, it was just that Negan was a damn fine specimen of a man, and no matter how many times you saw him, your ovaries would always start cheering and waving pompoms anytime he walked into the room.

Your brain tried to warn you that, perhaps, he was actually here to punish you, to make an example of you in front of everyone, like Andrew had said earlier. But your subconscious pushed the brain off to the side and told it to shut up, because it knew that his presence was more out of concealed concern than aggression.

"Well well well," Negan bellowed, sauntering across the tiles and in your direction. "Looks like my fucking cook is back where she fucking belongs: manning the oven and not out playing Indiana Jones in the fucking woods," he said sarcastically, to the kitchen at large.

When all that greeted him in response was nervous silence from the rest of the staff, he looked around and stated, "There a fucking reason why you're all standing there looking useless, rather than getting your asses to work?!"

The staff hurriedly returned to their tasks, but you knew that they were listening intently and watching Negan carefully out of the corner of their eyes. Chances were, they were thinking the same thing your brain was: that he was here for nefarious reasons, such as punishment.

You saw Trixie's ponytail flounce past your peripheral vision, and wondered just how much she was enjoying this whole situation. You were pretty sure that if she bounced any harder with each step, she'd become a human jackrabbit.

Refocusing on the pan of food, you felt, more than heard, Negan come up close behind you. He didn't stop until he was practically crowding you into the oven, watching closely over your left shoulder as you grabbed a knife and spatula from a nearby drawer and started cutting the freshly baked pan of lasagna into squared portions. You vaguely noticed that someone came up on your right and deposited a tray filled with empty plates onto the countertop before moving away again. Probably one of the servers, though it was impossible for you to know for sure, since you were distracted, due to the man behind you. Negan was so far up in your personal space, right now, that you could even detect his body heat at your back, and your hands trembled slightly as you finished cutting and put down the knife.

You used the spatula to dig out the first corner piece of lasagna and deposit it onto one of the plates. Much as you tried to focus completely on the task, you were so aware of Negan standing directly behind you, of how his large form overshadowed your own, mostly concealing you from the others. You should've felt trapped, with him so close and overbearing…but you didn't. Actually, it was pretty damn hot, having him behind you like that. It reinforced the difference in your sizes, and made you feel feminine and…protected.

 _Wow, are you sure you're not suffering from severe head trauma, instead of a concussion?_ Your brain was standing off to the side and arching one brow in judgment. You didn't see your subconscious; chances were that it was wrapped around one of Negan's legs and drooling like a dog in heat.

You felt Negan lean in closer, so close that you could clearly hear the air filling his lungs as he inhaled deeply through his nose, before letting out a soft chuckle that caused goosebumps to rise along the exposed back of your neck.

"Damn, that smell," he purred.

Trying not to drop any of the lasagna, while transferring it from the pan to the plates, you didn't dare to look back at him while replying, "I'm glad you approve. We added fresh zucchini to it this time, for some added flair."

Even though it logically made no sense, you swore that you could _feel_ Negan smile in response.

"I'm not talking about the food," he said, causing your brows to furrow in confusion.

He took another inhale, this time exhaling through his mouth, his warm breath coasting over your neck and the side of your cheek. His voice was a heady combination of husky gravel and playful seduction as he growled, "You fucking smell like me, doll. And I don't know why, but it's hot as fuck."

You froze, a piece of lasagna balancing on the spatula and dangling halfway between the pan and a plate. Eyes closing, you silently counted to 5 before opening them again and successfully completing the lasagna's journey. Which was a pretty big accomplishment, at the moment, given the circumstances.

It was bad enough that smelling Negan's shower products had been a turn on this morning, but now you realized that, him, smelling his own products on you was, yet, another item to add to your growing list of things that made you wet. And, apparently, it was a turn on for him, as well. You wondered if he had an erection right now, and the thought that all you had to do was move your hips back just half a step to find out, almost made you whimper.

Realization filtered in slowly that this was not the time nor the place for this type of interaction. In fact, you were sure that this looked confusing as hell to the rest of the kitchen staff. Trixie was probably shitting her pants in glee that her hypothesis about you and Negan was being supported with some hardcore evidence. Speaking of hard…

 _No, stop it! Not with everyone watching!_

You needed to lighten the mood a bit and break down the sexual tension that was quickly building to a temperature way hotter than any of the ovens. If he kept this up, you'd feel the need to flash an NC-17 warning sign to your staff.

Still looking down at the now empty pan of lasagna, you joked, "A man who thinks I smell better than food? Be still my heart."

He gave a low chuckle in response. "Little Red, you don't smell better than food…you _are_ the food."

His reference to the playful banter during your first outing in the woods together both caused your heart to tingle warmly and your thighs to clench together in arousal at the thought of him "eating you".

 _Fuck, so much for breaking some of the tension._ You brought a hand up to rub the side of your temple subconsciously, more to try and clear your thoughts from the completely inappropriate path they had taken, than because of any physical discomfort.

However, Negan didn't miss the gesture, and his tone immediately became more serious as he asked, "Does your head still hurt?"

Shaking your head and dropping your hand, you replied, "Not really, no."

"What the fuck does 'not really' mean, doll? Either it hurts or it doesn't."

Sighing and mentally rolling your eyes at his quick switch from seductive to overly concerned, you looked at him over your shoulder and replied, "It means, that I still have a tiny headache here and there, but I'm fine."

Negan took a step back to give you some space, and while it helped you feel more able to breathe, you also felt disappointment at the small distance.

"Dr. Carson should look at you, again. That fucking quack probably missed something last night."

Turning to face him, you were about to open your mouth and reply that you were fine, and that another doctor visit wasn't needed, especially when you were in the middle of working. However, someone else beat you to the punch.

"I can take her."

Leaning to the side and looking around Negan, you saw Ben standing there. His face was neutral and relaxed, but his crossed arms and taut body posture showcased his tension. You weren't sure how long he had been hovering nearby, or how much he had heard, but it was obvious that he had, at least, caught the tail end of the conversation.

When Negan turned around in surprise to see who had dared to interrupt him, Ben didn't flinch or back up. He just looked Negan in the eye and waited for a response.

"Well, fuck, Benny boy, I didn't even see you there! The fuck you doing, sneaking up on a man while he's having a conversation?"

Still refusing to back down, despite the hint of annoyance in Negan's voice, Ben replied, "I can keep an eye on her for the rest of dinner, sir. And if she needs to go to the doctor, I'll gladly escort her there myself."

"And just why the fuck would I need _you_ to do that? I'd say you've helped her out enough already, wouldn't you agree?" Negan asked, his words low and drawn out, a signal that he was starting to get pissed off.

You tried to catch Ben's gaze over Negan's shoulder, opening your eyes wide in a silent plea for him to let the situation go, and back off. However, Ben wasn't paying any attention to you, since his attention was still focused on Negan.

"I'm guessing what you mean is that it was _my_ helpthat caused her to be found last night," he calmly replied.

Negan arched a brow, as if in amusement, but you saw the white-knuckled death grip that he now had on Lucille. Anxiety spiked into your throat at the thought of any physical altercation between the two of them. Moving out from behind Negan, you discreetly positioned yourself at his side, ready to lunge between the two of them if the situation escalated. While Ben was almost as tall as Negan, and had youth on his side, he still was no match for the power of Lucille.

"Look, I'm fine, I promise," you asserted, trying to draw the men's attention off of each other and onto you. "If it'll make you both feel better, I'll go see Dr. Carson when dinner is over. But right now, there's hungry people waiting to be fed." Gesturing to the tray of lasagna plates, you added, "Ben, could you take those out to the cafeteria for me, please."

Holding Negan's gaze for a few more seconds before finally looking at you, Ben nodded and said, "Sure thing, boss. You know I'm always willing to _help_ you out."

With that, he walked over and grabbed the tray of lasagna, giving Negan one last neutral stare before he turned and headed out the doors to the cafeteria. You could practically feel the tension vibrating off of Negan, and knew that he was struggling to contain his anger. Without thinking, you reached up and laid a hand on his nearest forearm, which was holding Lucille. As if he had forgotten you were there, his gaze jerked away from the doors through which Ben had disappeared and focused back down on you.

Giving a small, closed-mouth smile, you reassured, "I'm really fine. If it would make you feel better, I can stop by the med station once dinner is served, and have Dr. Carson take a look. I'll even report back to you with what he says."

You were grateful to see that the flames of anger that had started flickering in Negan's eyes were disappearing at your words. His tone was still curt, but you could feel the muscles in his forearm relax, which in turn caused you to relax, as well.

"I've got a better idea, doll. You bring me a tray of food, when you're done here, and I'll have Dr. Carson look at you then."

Nodding, you dropped your hand from Negan's arm, and agreed, "Works for me. I'll be up when dinner is finished, a little after 7."

"It's a date, doll," he quipped, before turning and striding towards the exit.

Right as he made it to the doors, they swung open on their own, and Ben walked through. The two men paused, staring at one another silently for an extended moment, causing you to hold your breath. Finally, Ben stepped to the side and held the door open for Negan, who twirled Lucille on his shoulder menacingly before walking through the door and out of the kitchen.

You let out a sigh and gave Ben a half-hearted glare, as he walked back over to you.

"Was that really necessary? I mean, do you _want_ to get yourself in trouble?" you hissed.

"In trouble for what," he casually replied. "I didn't do anything wrong, and he knows it."

A smirk crossed his face, his blue eyes twinkling mischievously. "I gotta say, it felt good to stare him down like that. I about crapped my pants once or twice, but still, what a rush."

You couldn't help the grin that crossed your own face, even as you rolled your eyes upward and said, "Oh, please. You know you were crapping your pants the entire time, not just once or twice."

Ben laughed and put a finger up to his lips, "Shh, I don't know what you're talking about. Speak for yourself."

After that, the rest of dinner went smoothly. If any of the diners asked about why Negan had been in the kitchen, you weren't aware of it. Even the kitchen staff didn't ask questions or make any comments about what had happened. You weren't sure if that was a good thing or not, but decided to let it go, for now. And, of course, Trixie spent the rest of dinner smirking at you, like a cat who had just caught the canary, but she didn't say anything, either.

When all the diners had left, and the dishes were brought back to the kitchen to be washed, you pulled out the plate of lasagna you had been keeping warm in the oven and put it on a tray with a glass and pitcher of water. Ben walked over with two rolls, which he put on the tray for you.

"Good luck."

Looking over at him, you asked, "Why would I need luck? It's just a dinner tray."

Ben raised an eyebrow cynically, and replied, "Right. And the walkers are just misunderstood puppies."

Giving him a playful glare, you grabbed the tray, headed out of the kitchen, and started the trek to the fourth floor. Much as you had tried to play off his comment, Ben wasn't wrong. When it came to Negan, it was never _just_ a dinner tray...and you knew it.


	39. Active Imagination

Stopping by your room on the way upstairs, you grabbed Negan's sweatpants and his copy of _The Scarlet Letter_. They were now tucked under your right arm, while you used both hands to carry the tray of lasagna.

It felt like a lifetime ago when you first borrowed that book, the day the two of you had played chess. Your lips tilted upwards at the memory of kicking Negan's ass and winning the bet. A bet which, technically, was still not fulfilled, since he hadn't taken you on a third outing, yet.

Reaching the fourth floor, you almost stumbled when you saw someone else in the hallway, coming towards you. It was a tall man who was wearing a button-down tan shirt, dark pants, and one of the boldest moustaches you had seen since the apocalypse began. It was Simon.

At first, he looked like he was angry and about to tell you to turn around and go back the way you had come. However, he appeared to quickly recognize you, his eyes glancing down at the tray in your hands, before he gave you a warm smile.

"Bringing dinner for Negan?" he asked, even though it was pretty obvious that that was exactly what you were doing.

Nodding, you gave a firm, "Yes, sir," in response, which caused him to chuckle.

"Have fun," he said with a wink, as the two of you passed by one another.

Turning your head to watch his retreating form, your brows furrowed at his words. _What the hell did he mean by that?_

Telling yourself that you were just being overly paranoid, you turned and continued down the hall, thankfully reaching Negan's door without any other encounters.

Balancing the tray on one hand, you gave a sharp knock. A muffled, "Come in!" caused you to grab the knob and open the door. At first, you were surprised to see that Negan wasn't alone, but then you remembered his earlier promise to have Dr. Carson look at your head, again.

The doctor was standing off to the side, frown lines around his ginger-bearded mouth, showcasing his discomfort at being in Negan's office. Looking across the room, you made eye contact with Negan, who was leaning against the front of his desk, arms spread out on along the dark wood on either side of his hips. He gave you a slow grin before pushing off the desk and coming over to take the tray out of your hands. Feeling incredibly awkward, with his pants and book still tucked under your arm, you moved a few steps to the side, in order to place them down on the nearest edge of the leather couch.

You turned to see Dr. Carson watching you, and hoped he didn't make any assumptions about the pants. Although, he knew you had spent the night in Negan's bed last night, so it wasn't like there was much use in trying to hide that the two of you had something private going on. Even though, you still weren't sure what that private thing was, at this point.

That thought was interrupted by Negan's gruff voice. "Well, the fuck you waiting for, doc?"

The words jolted Dr. Carson forward, and he walked up to where you were standing, his blue eyes full of nervous energy. It was apparent that Negan had threatened him in some way, to do this correctly, and you felt bad for the guy. It wasn't his fault you had ran out into the woods and hit your head, and you knew that there wasn't any needed treatment, since you already felt majorly improved from less than 24 hours ago.

Carson took out a little pocket light and shone it in your eyes, telling you to follow the light as he moved it in various directions. You must've been successful, because he nodded and clicked it off, before asking if you had any current pain. You admitted to a slight, residual headache, but said that was all. Your ankle still give the tiniest of twinges, if you were on your feet for a while, but you weren't even about to mention that, in case Negan got the dramatic idea in his head to put you on bedrest. Glancing over, you saw that he was ignoring the food in favor of watching you closely, as if to make sure that the doctor's examination was thorough enough.

Dr. Carson asked you a few more questions, which you answered truthfully, before he pulled a full bottle of Tylenol out of the pocket of his white coat and handed it to you. At first, you tried to deny taking it, knowing that medication was precious and to be saved for more dire circumstances. However, Negan was having none of it, as shown by him growling, "Take the fucking bottle, doll."

Deciding that arguing would only cause more trouble for the doctor, you took the pills and gave Carson a smile of reassurance.

"Thanks, I'll be sure to take them, as needed."

Negan then seemed satisfied, because he dismissed Carson with a wave of his hand. The poor man couldn't seem to scramble out of the room fast enough, as he gave a rushed goodbye and left in a flurry of white.

Once he was gone, Negan finally turned to the tray of food, apparently content that you were indeed healthy and not about to drop dead. You stared down at the bottle of Tylenol in your hand, the sounds of Negan unrolling the metal silverware and pouring a glass of water in the background.

"Did you eat?" he asked.

You jumped slightly, his question startling you with its abruptness.

"I, uh…no, I didn't."

"Well, then, get the fuck over here and eat."

You looked up to see him sitting behind the desk; he had removed his gloves and the food was displayed on the tray before him. A bit confused, you walked across the room towards him, wondering how he planned on sharing the lasagna, since there was only one plate.

He opened one of his desk drawers and pulled out a plastic fork, before handing you the metal one. You set the bottle of Tylenol down on the corner of the desk, took the fork, and stood there awkwardly, unsure how he meant for this to work. It was apparent, by the two forks, that he wasn't going to feed you, the way he had before, with the stir fry. Just the memory of that intimate evening caused sweat to bead on the back of your neck.

When you continued to stand there silently, Negan gave a chuckle and pushed the chair back from his desk a few inches, before patting his thigh.

"Well, doll, whataya waiting for?" he teased, a toothy grin on his face.

While you were (barely) able to keep your mouth from dropping open in shock, you knew that it was impossible to hide the surprise on your face. _He wants you to sit on his lap!_

Your subconscious was frantically trying to shove you around the desk towards Negan, and even your traitorous brain was arguing that it was the most logical solution, seeing as how there was only one chair.

Forcing yourself to move slowly towards him, you looked anywhere but at him and his smirk, instead focusing on his knee, as if you were analyzing how best to approach it. When you were standing beside him, and couldn't stall any more without it being obvious, you decided to play it safe. Turning, you bent your knees and perched gingerly on the very edge of his knee, so that the smallest possible fraction of your ass was in contact with him.

A warm arm immediately wrapped around your waist, as his deep voice sounded in your ear.

"Jesus, doll, I'm not made of fucking glass. C'mere."

His other arm reached over, so that he could pull your legs up over his, until you were sitting sideways across his lap. The back of your thighs were draped over the tops of his, while his hand was on your knee, and your left shoulder was tucked solidly into his chest.

You were on sensory overload, the feel of him under and beside you almost too much to take. His thighs were firm, as was his chest, and he was so _warm_ , even through the layers of clothing. Lifting your head slowly, you saw his bearded chin first, only a few inches in front of you.

Moving upwards, you traveled over his perfectly sculpted lips and nose, before locking eyes with him. There were tiny crinkles at the outer corners of his eyes, as he watched you in amusement, obviously enjoying throwing you off balance like this.

"Ya comfy, doll?" he husked, his voice sounding low and intimate.

Gulping down the saliva that immediately flooded your mouth at his voice, you nodded and replied, "Yep…sure…definitely."

You felt the chuckle rumble in his chest, as he lifted the hand that had been laying on your knee and picked up the plastic fork, which had been abandoned on the tray. He stabbed it into a piece of lasagna, bringing the food to his mouth and closing his eyes in pleasure while chewing.

"Pretty fucking good," he complimented, while reaching for a second bite.

You were still clenching the metal fork in your own hand, and you shifted slightly in his lap, so that you could reach out and pick up a bite of food. Negan had already cut up the lasagna into bite-size chunks, so it was easy for the two of you to take turns stabbing pieces with your forks.

Since there were two rolls, you each took one, ripping off pieces between bites of the lasagna. You ate in silence, but it was a comfortable silence. In fact, you quickly relaxed in his lap; sure, you were still overwhelmed by being so close to him, but you also felt…safe. Since there was only one glass of water, you figured 'what the hell', and took sips out of it, same as Negan did. He didn't reprimand you or make a comment about it, just kept on eating. The only noise was the clink of your forks against the plate and your muffled chewing and swallowing.

When the plate was clean, you sat there nervously, wondering if you should get up off his lap, now that the food was gone. There was no script for these situations, no way to apply his 'rules' to what he expected of you right now. Usually, you planned out your moves and were always thinking ahead, but with Negan, there was no telling what would happen next, and you were never able to predict his next move.

Truth be told, you didn't want to get up. Now that you had a full belly, you were comfortable and content right where you were. You were also excited by this new level of intimacy. Not necessarily excited as in sexually, but in a way that caused your chest to burn warmly, and your lips to fight against a perpetual grin that you couldn't seem to control.

A few minutes passed by in pure silence, where the two of you sat and stared off into space, both in your own little worlds. You would've given all of your points to know what Negan was thinking in that moment, to know how he felt, here with you. _You could ask him,_ your subconscious suggested.

Instead of taking its advice, you broke the silence with another topic that came to mine. One that was a bit safer.

"I saw Simon on my way here," you said lightly.

A 'humph' was your only response. _Well, aren't we in a talkative mode._

"I haven't noticed him around here since I first arrived, but he didn't seem surprised to see me coming to your room," you continued.

Shifting underneath you, and bringing his hand down to rest on your thigh, while his other arm was still wrapped around your waist, he finally gave an answer with real words.

"I brought him back from an outpost. I needed him to watch over things for me here and make sure nothing else goes amiss. Especially since that fucker, Dwight, can no longer be trusted to even man the fucking front gate properly."

You had noticed that Dwight wasn't at dinner earlier, but had thought maybe it was a fluke. Now, you turned and looked up at Negan's profile, trying to read his expression.

"What did you do to him?" you asked, not sure if you wanted to know the answer.

Your stomach dropped at the slight curl of Negan's lips, as he answered, "He and my cell are gonna get well-acquainted for the next few days."

Certain that you must've misheard him, you echoed, "Cell?"

Turning his head to look at you, Negan confirmed, "Yea, doll, a fucking cell. Ya know, with a locked door, no windows?"

 _Shit._ You hadn't even known the Sanctuary had one of those, let alone that it got utilized.

"And that's where he'll fucking stay, until he's learned his lesson."

His words instantly sparked your feelings from over a week ago, and the conflict you had felt over Negan's special brand of punishments. A picture of Harry's screaming, burnt face flashed before your eyes. You suddenly realized how ridiculous it was, to be sitting here peacefully with Negan. Had you forgotten how sick you had felt, when watching him iron that poor man's face? And the way he had smiled while doing so…that same smile had started to emerge on his face when discussing Dwight just now.

You automatically started to slide your legs to the side, meaning to bring them down so that you could stand up from his lap. However, the hand on your thigh tightened, before pulling your legs back into their previous position.

Fine, you could have this conversation while sitting, if that's what he really wanted.

Taking a deep breath, you dove into the deep end of the pool, and hoped that you weren't going to drown.

"This is probably going to ruin the mood we have going on...but even after everything that happened last night, and what you told me, it doesn't change the fact that I still don't understand why you came up with such cruel punishments for people, or why you seem to relish in doling them out so much."

You felt him instantly tense up beneath you, but pressed on, before he could respond.

"I get that people have to stay in line, but isn't there a way to make them do so without bodily harm? I mean…maybe take away their points or make them work longer hours? Something that isn't so permanently…damaging."

Finished, you waited for his response. Half of you expected an angry outburst, and the other half expected him to tell you to get the fuck out. No part of you expected what he actually did, which was sigh tiredly and give you an honest answer.

"I don't enjoy putting people in pain, doll. But I _do_ enjoy teaching them a lesson. I know that, if I do something harsh enough, something they'll never forget, then the lesson will stick with them. They'll be reminded of it every time they look in the mirror, or contemplate breaking a rule again. Too many fucking people have died because they didn't learn the harsh lessons of this world fast enough. A burnt face or spending a few days in a cell is nothing compared to being ripped to shreds or becoming one of those undead fuckers outside the gates."

The hand on your thigh had tightened when he first started talking, but now it relaxed, his fingers tracing zigzag patterns along the denim. Unsure where to put your own hands, you kept them clasped together loosely in your lap.

"At the start of all this shit, I saw too many people make one too many mistakes, and they paid for it in more than charred flesh. Me giving them friendly advice or threatening to leave them behind didn't work. They just didn't fucking get it."

He got silent, both of you staring down at his fingers trailing over your denim-covered skin. You wondered if he was remembering the faces of all those people, and you wondered how many it had been. How many people had he tried to save in the past, and failed?

Stilling his hand, he looked up, catching your gaze with his own. His hazel eyes were dulled by the memories of those from the past, of those he had outlived. You nodded once at him, a wordless gesture to say that you were listening, and that you understood.

His face hardened before you, the small hints that he was affected by his past disappearing, as he put his Broadway mask back on. But you had seen the mask slip, and knew there was more emotion behind what he was saying then he cared to admit.

"So, if I wanted people to stop being so fucking stupid, I had to stop caring about hurting their fucking feelings." At this he smirked. "Or about hurting their fucking faces."

You realized that, in his own twisted way, Negan saw the punishments as his best way to _help_ the individuals who fucked up. He just wanted to make them realize that mistakes weren't acceptable in this type of environment, and caused you and those around you to end up dead. And, perhaps, it was this idea of helping that caused him to get such glee from the punishments, more than the idea of inflicting pain. It didn't make complete sense to you, but then again, you hadn't had the weight of feeling responsible for who knows how many deaths on your hands. And, you had to admit, Negan's unique form of punishments _did_ keep people in line, and the amount of deaths among the community were so low as to be astonishing in a time such as this.

However, his logic still didn't follow through with all forms of punishment, at least not from your point of view.

"But what about the wives? How is punishing their partners, when they cheat on you, a way to help keep them safe? Cheating on someone doesn't usually equate to them also being at risk for getting eaten by walkers.

You found yourself semi-mesmerized by the wicked grin that crossed Negan's lips, your gaze unable to look away when his tongue came out and licked slowly along his bottom lip, before tucking into his cheek.

"Oh, doll, that punishment is an entirely different type of lesson, which is a very easy one to understand. You don't fucking disrespect me. Simple as that. And fucking my wives is a _huge_ form of disrespect."

"Did that happen before, too?" The words slipped out before you could catch them.

"What?" He furrowed his brow and tilted his head in confusion.

"Having multiple wives? Did that start before you came here, and started the Sanctuary?"

He huffed a laugh. "It was all I could do to keep my dick from getting bit off by a fucking walker, so having wives wasn't really a priority back then."

"What about before the apocalypse? Were you married?"

You could tell you had crossed a line. All trace of humor immediately slipped off Negan's face, and he turned his face away from you, suddenly interested in the pile of papers sitting at the far edge of his desk.

You could literally _feel_ him withdrawing from you and starting to slam in place the walls that had been slowly crumbling down, when the two of you were together.

Reaching up and resting your hand on his forearm, you reassured him. "It's okay, we don't have to talk about it. I was just being curious."

Still not looking at you, he gave a ghost of his true smile, before trying to interject some humor to defuse the situation.

"You know what they fucking say about curiosity, doll."

Lightly bumping your shoulder into his chest, you playfully responded, "Yea yea yea, I know."

He did have a point. Curiosity might kill the cat, but it had also almost killed you last night, when you decided to go out past the fences.

The thought prompted you to remember the items that were still laying on his couch, and you perked up at the reminder.

"Oh! I brought back your pants and book," you exclaimed, sliding your legs down off his. This time, he let you go, and you lifted yourself from his lap before going over to the couch to fetch the items.

You brought them back over and set them down on top of his desk, while Negan leaned back in the chair and watched you.

"Shame. Those pants looked way better on you than on me," he flirted.

Telling your body to resist his charm and not blush, you quipped back, "I wish I could say the same about my pants, but I think I'd prefer those to be worn by me, too." Holding out your hand, you moved your fingers back and forth in a 'give 'em here' gesture.

Giving a chuckle, he rose from the chair and walked over to the door that led to his bedroom. You watched as he disappeared inside, then returned a few seconds later holding your jeans, as well as the brown pack you had taken into the woods. You had almost forgotten about your little bag, since it hadn't contained anything too major, but were happy that he had somehow retrieved it.

He laid the items on the desk, beside his own folded-up pants and book, before turning to you.

"I have something else for you, doll."

Looking at him curiously, you quirked a brow in question, then watched as he walked over to pick something up from the corner of the room, where it had been leaning against a side table, previously unnoticed. When he turned back around with the stick in his hands, your lips parted and lifted into what was probably a ridiculously goofy grin.

 _He brought back Ricardo!_

Practically skipping across the room, you took the spear from him gleefully, not realizing until that moment how much you had missed the weight of it in your hand.

Looking up at him, you gave a happy, "Thank you!"

"You're welcome, doll. Ridiculous as I think that fucking thing is, it did save you from getting bit last night, so I guess it can stay."

Giving a sly smirk, you said, "Does this mean Lucille has a new weapon buddy?"

You had meant to keep the mood light with the joke, but realized the comment was a mistake the moment his face hardened, and his eyes flickered away from you.

Unsure what it was that you had said wrong, you were trying to figure out how to backtrack, when Negan spoke up.

"I was."

Looking up at him, you saw that his gaze was fixed on a spot near the floor beside you. Looking over and down, you realized he was staring at Lucille, who was propped up against the side of his desk.

"You were what?" you asked, confused.

He gave a sigh, breaking his gaze from the bat and looking back at you. You noticed that he had tucked his hands into the pockets of his leather jacket, as if he were feeling uncomfortable all of a sudden, and didn't know what to do with them.

"Married," he said quietly. "I was married, before all of this."

Shock hit you at his words, followed by a wave of sadness at the way he said, "was." It left no doubt in your mind that there wasn't a happy ending to that story.

You didn't know how to respond to his admission, so you went with the super intelligent response of, "Oh."

The side of his lips twitched the tiniest bit, as if he found your reaction amusing. Perhaps, you being caught off guard and unable to say much was working in your favor, because he didn't seem upset or angry with the topic, and wasn't shutting down like he had earlier.

Hoping that you didn't push him too far, when he was starting to crack open another wall of emotion, you hesitantly asked, "What was her name?"

His eyes flickered back over in the direction of the bat, and your brain put the pieces together barely a second before he answered.

"Lucille."

 _Shit. Fuck._

"Negan, I am _so_ sorry!" you blurted, feeling guilt like a lead weight in your stomach.

He seemed surprised by your response. "Sorry? About fucking what?"

You lifted Ricardo up in front of you, as Exhibit A.

"I thought the name was witty, just a joke to maybe get a rise out of you. I never meant to be disrespectful towards your wife. God, I feel like such an asshole!"

You looked over at Lucille, finally realizing why that bat was so fucking important to him. Why he took her everywhere, and talked about her as if she were a living thing. She was his memorial to his dead wife, and you had turned her into a joke by naming your spear, and basing the two weapons off an old TV show couple. The thought made you want to vomit from shame.

You jumped at the feel of a warm hand cupping your chin and pulling your face back so that you were looking up at him, again. Instead of the anger or annoyance you expected (and deserved) to see, Negan's eyes were calm, and he had a sad smile on his face.

"Nah, doll, it's alright. It's not like you fucking knew. Lotta people would think I was fucked in the head for that shit, rather than apologize."

The thought of anyone mocking him for it made you grit your teeth. If you ever heard someone do that, you'd iron them yourself.

 _Well now, look who's rubbing off on you, missy._ Your brain was shaking its head at your emotional reaction, while your subconscious smirked and waggled a finger at you in mock disapproval.

"I don't think that, at all," you sincerely replied. "In fact, I think it's a perfect gesture of remembrance, to keep her spirit alive in such a powerful weapon. She gets to kick ass, even from the afterlife."

The look you got in response almost knocked you physically off balance. If you didn't know any better, you'd say the emotion on Negan's face right now was affectionate and _soft_ …and another warm and fuzzy emotion that was so out of character for him that you couldn't even fathom putting a name to it right now.

"Thanks, doll," he said softly, a genuinely happy smile on his face.

At that moment, the mood was interrupted by a soft knock that caused both of you to turn and look at the door.

You frantically turned to Negan, unsure if you should hide or leave or... _something._

He didn't give any indication of what you should do, and, instead, strolled over to the door, without a care, and opened it. You wanted to melt into the nearest wall when you saw Amber standing on the other side, holding a dinner tray.

She smiled sweetly up at Negan, before seductively declaring, "I brought you dinner."

Oh god, you were gonna vomit, and you weren't sure if it was from embarrassment at being here, or disgust at the way Amber was openly eye fucking Negan and offering up more than the lasagna as his dinner.

It took Amber a few delayed seconds before she noticed you, her brows lowering and face showcasing confusion that Negan wasn't alone. You saw the moment she recognized you, because her confusion turned to annoyance, and she blatantly scanned up and down your body, taking in your appearance. Her eyebrows quirked upwards in condescending amusement, at the sight of Ricardo still clenched in your hand.

You really hated to be so negative against another woman, but Amber was far from your favorite person anyways, with how she sometimes treated Maria. Right now, there were a few choice words that ran through your mind to describe her, ones that were best left unspoken. However, she was one of Negan's wives, and you were...well...you were just the head cook. So really, didn't she have more right to be here than you did? In fact, it was quite possible that Negan was regretting your presence, since you were effectively cockblocking the two of them by being here.

"I don't remember asking you to bring a tray, Amber," Negan dead-panned. He was facing her, so you couldn't read his expression, to try and decipher his mood.

Either he wasn't upset, or Amber sucked at reading him, because she gave a wide grin and cocked her hip, silkily replying, "You didn't, but I figured you'd be hungry without any dinner, so I went the whole way down to the kitchen and got you this, all on my own."

She seemed so proud of herself, and you actually felt kinda bad for her, that she made something as simple as getting a dinner tray into this huge accomplishment. Then again, the wives didn't have to work, like...ever. So, this might be the most effort she had put into something all day.

"Well, looks like you're going to have a second serving of dinner for yourself, because we already ate," he said, his voice flat. He didn't sound angry, but he wasn't pulled in by her flirtatious act, either. You felt a dart of approval at his "we", and had to fight to keep the grin off your face.

Amber looked over at you again, and if looks could kill, you'd have been fried by the heat in her eyes. _Great. Just fucking great. First Trixie, now Amber. Way to keep hopping onto people's shit lists._

Left with no other reason to keep herself there, Amber turned her glare from you, and pasted a smile back on her face as she looked back up at Negan.

"Of course! How silly of me to go to all that trouble without asking you first." She leaned in close and put a hand on his chest, angling her body in a way that gave him a perfect view down her low-cut top. "I'll be in my room all evening, if you need me."

He gave a wordless nod, and you watched as Amber turned and strode away.

When he closed the door, you felt a rush of awkwardness. What the hell were you supposed to say after that? Should you apologize? Act like it hadn't happened? It was one thing to know he had wives, and another thing to be blatantly reminded that at least one of said wives was actively trying to fuck Negan, while you were instead sharing lasagna with him and discussing morbid topics, like his dead wife being turned into a baseball bat. God, you wouldn't be surprised at all if he preferred Amber's brand of comfort over yours right now.

"I uh...I know I'm taking up a lot of your time, so I should probably go," you said.

You were giving him an out, if he wanted it, or giving him the opportunity to tell you to stay, and show that he valued your time over one of his wives. Your subconscious was looking at him with pleading eyes, begging him to say that he wanted you to stay.

Running his hand down over the front of his beard, he looked at you thoughtfully. "It's fine, doll. Although, I do have a lot of shit to catch up on tonight, to prepare for the run tomorrow."

You felt some disappointment at his soft hint that you should leave, but at least it wasn't so that he could go fuck Amber. Well, unless he was covering it up with the excuse of having work to do.

"You're going on another run?" It seemed like those had become more frequent lately, but maybe it was just that you actually noticed when he was gone now, since you paid closer attention to his whereabouts and safety than you cared to admit.

"Yea, I'm taking some men to Hilltop tomorrow. Simon usually has that shit under control, but his spidey senses have been tingling that Gregory isn't as in fucking charge as he pretends to be. So, I'm going up there to check out the situation for myself."

His logic made sense, even though it made you nervous to see him go. What if, one of these times, one of those other communities tried to fight back? What if they hurt him or, heaven forbid, killed him? _Stop it, if there's anyone who is going to outlast us all and make it to the end of this apocalypse, it's the sarcastic asshole standing in front of you._

"Well, be careful," you said, grabbing your jeans, the bottle of Tylenol, and the little brown sack off his desk, before heading towards him and the door. You didn't want to overstay your welcome, if Negan had work to do. The faster he got it finished, the earlier he could go to sleep and get some rest. And more rest meant he'd be more alert and less likely to make a mistake while on the run. _And now you're becoming paranoid about his safety, because you're letting yourself care too much._

"I'm always careful, doll. And Simon will be in charge while I'm gone, so hopefully this place won't burn down before I get back," he said with a grin.

"The only way it'll burn down is if Trixie leaves the rolls in the oven too long. And, since her locker room buddy is currently indisposed, I don't think I'll have to worry about her getting distracted from her duties for the next few days," you joked back.

Giving a bark of laughter, Negan's eyes twinkled with mirth as he gave you a wink. "I guess we don't have to worry about you burning anything either, then, since I won't be around to distract you."

Smiling up at him, you dared to say back, "Oh, I don't know. Just because you won't physically be here, that doesn't mean I don't have a _very_ active imagination."

You saw his mouth go slack as the meaning of your words sunk in. His gaze lasered in on your face, as if for confirmation that your words were meant to be as sexual as they sounded. Rather than confirm or deny it, you decided to give him something to think about, instead, and remind him that Amber wasn't the only one who could be seductive around here.

Pasting an innocent smile on your face, you walked right up to him, reached up on tiptoes, and pressed your lips softly onto his. The kiss was so quick and feather-light as to be almost nonexistent, but it still sent a thrill through you.

Pulling back, you gave him a wink of your own, before turning and all but floating out the door. Your all-powerful leader was left speechless, and he just stood there in silent shock, and watched you leave.


	40. Variety is the Spice of Life

You woke up on your own, before your alarm, the next morning. Eyes squinted over at the side table, where your watch sat, the digital letters telling you that it was a little after 6:30am. In fact, you could easily get ready and make it down to the kitchens for breakfast, rather than lay in bed all morning and be forced to eat a granola bar alone.

Mind made up, you swung your legs off the edge of the bed and stretched stiff arms over your head with a groan. Walking over to the crate that held your clothes, you pulled out clean underwear and a grey t-shirt. You also grabbed the jeans that Negan had returned to you, which had been freshly washed and showed no signs of your fall out in the woods.

Pulling on socks and sneakers, and twisting your hair up into its signature bun, you grabbed the watch off the nightstand and buckled it around your wrist while walking out the door. You passed by a few compound members, some rubbing sleepy eyes in an effort to wake up, while others hurried towards the locker rooms with towels and bars of soap, so that they could shower before heading off to work.

In the past, it had been rare for you to get up this early on your own, so you usually missed the hustle and bustle of breakfast and people getting ready for jobs that required them to be at their posts bright and early. However, you hadn't been able to sleep as well last night, and you were willing to admit that it was because of the supply run.

Every time Negan left for a run, you became more and more nervous. Instead of relief at the absence of your gruff leader, like a lot of compound members probably felt, you were on edge and trying not to think of every possible way in which the run could go south, and put Negan in danger. You didn't know much about Hilltop, or the Gregory individual that Negan had mentioned last night, and lack of information caused your brain to swirl with all the worst-case scenarios.

Trying to clear your mind from visions of Negan getting shot or bit or taken hostage, you made your way down the stairwell towards the first floor. Entering the first floor hallway, you saw various people moving to and fro, most of them heading in the same direction that you were, towards the cafeteria. When you walked past the tables of diners and pushed open the door to the kitchen, you saw Ben scooping oatmeal into bowls, while two servers hurried back and forth with trays. Holding the door open for an approaching server, so that they could exit into the cafeteria, you received a hasty greeting, in passing, before they started handing out bowls to a nearby table.

Ben was so preoccupied that he didn't even notice your arrival, until you walked over to where he was standing and plucked one of the ready-to-go bowls of oatmeal off the tray. He stopped mid-scoop to turn and look over in surprise, before giving a smile and exclaiming, "Hiya, boss! What brings you down here this early?"

Grabbing a spoon out of a nearby drawer, you cocked a hip against the counter and gave a shrug. "I woke up early, and figured I might as well come down here and join the land of the living for breakfast."

Ben nodded at that, before going back to scooping the breakfast into bowls. Chewing on a spoonful of oatmeal, you wondered what time Negan and his men had left the Sanctuary. Even with how early it was, you knew that they had already left and, chances were, they had beat the sun in getting up this morning.

After finishing the bowl of oatmeal, you grabbed a tray that Ben had just finished filling with bowls, and took it out to the cafeteria. You doubted the servers would mind you helping them out, since it would make breakfast a little less hectic for them. Plus, you wanted to keep busy, keep your brain occupied, while Negan was gone. The more idle time you possessed, the more you would worry about him. _God, actually caring about him is so stressful. What happened to the days when I didn't give a fuck how the runs went?_

Busying yourself with taking several trays out to the cafeteria, you said 'good morning' to diners while placing bowls down in front of them, engaging in a bit of small talk with a few who were more awake than their comrades. None mentioned Negan, but a couple did ask if you were alright, after getting "lost in the woods and knocking yourself out", as they put it. Assuring them that you were safe, and making a few individuals laugh, by making jabs at your own clumsy feet and hard head, you breathed an internal sigh of relief that no one seemed malicious or at all suspicious about the events of the past couple days.

Once breakfast was done being served, and all the dirty bowls were brought back into the kitchen, you sent the two morning servers on their way, saying you could help Ben clean up. They didn't argue, glad to have a bit of extra free time between now and when they had to come back and help with dinner prep.

Grabbing a rag and some detergent, you ran hot water in the sink and started tackling the mound of dirty dishes. Ben stood to your right, with a dish towel, ready to dry each newly-cleaned bowl that you handed to him. The two of you had a pretty smooth system going on, your movements becoming almost mechanical as you scrubbed off the oatmeal, rinsed off the suds, and passed the bowls to Ben. You weren't surprised when Ben spoke up, asking what you were sure had been on his mind since you first entered the kitchen.

"So, how did last night go?"

It felt so strange, to have a confidant in all of this now, but it was also a relief. You actually felt a little excited at the prospect of filling Ben in on what had happened, and hearing his opinion on the situation. You gave him the run-down of the events in Negan's room, starting with Dr. Carson checking your head, and you and Negan eating lasagna together.

"You mean you were actually sitting on his lap, and he behaved himself?" he asked in disbelief.

"Yep. Weird, right?"

You hadn't realized, until Ben brought it up, how surprising that was for Negan. Usually the man was full of sexual innuendos, but he had been surprisingly companionable last night. It was almost as if he saw you as more than just another warm body to try and sleep with. The thought made you smile.

Continuing with the events of the evening, you decided to leave out any parts regarding Lucille. It wasn't that you didn't trust Ben, but there were some secrets that were best left untold, and you had a strong feeling that Lucille was one of them. You would bet a boatload of points that there weren't many, if any, people still alive who knew about her origin, and that it wasn't information Negan disclosed lightly. Instead, you skipped to when Amber had shown up at the door, and how she had flirted with Negan and openly glared at you. Handing another bowl to Ben, you caught him rolling his eyes.

"That woman is all doe eyes and innocent sexiness on the outside, but pure, stone-cold heartlessness on the inside," he said.

You were surprised to hear Ben have such a strong opinion on someone, since he was usually more willing to give people the benefit of the doubt than you were. Well, except when it came to Negan. "What do you mean? Did you know Amber before coming to the Sanctuary?"

"No, but she was assigned to the kitchens, when she first arrived here." Ben dried off the bowl in his hands, before adding it to the stacks of clean bowls that were slowly accumulating on the counter.

You hadn't known that Amber worked for points before becoming one of Negan's wives, and so gestured with your hand for Ben to continue.

"And?"

"And she was horrible at it. That girl couldn't tell a frying pan from a cookie tray if her life depended on it. It's not that she isn't smart…far from it. I just don't know that she ever had to take care of herself or cook her own meals. I got the sense that she had a lot of money before the apocalypse broke out, so she was very naïve when it came to a lot of tasks that other people take for granted. Like putting rolls in an oven or washing dishes."

You nodded at that, because it made a lot of sense, given Amber's underlying sense of entitlement when it came to Negan's attention. Not to mention the way she had made it seem as if fetching a dinner tray for Negan had been some difficult mission.

Ben sighed and took another bowl from your hand, wiping it dry with the dish towel. "I tried to help her out as best I could, but she just didn't want to learn. Thankfully, she's young and attractive, so Negan made her an offer to be his wife within her first week here. She jumped at the opportunity with no hesitation, despite the fact that she arrived here with her boyfriend, Mark. I haven't really interacted with her since then."

He paused and looked at you, before adding, "Actually, maybe it makes sense, why Amber doesn't seem to be your biggest fan."

"Why is that?" you questioned, handing off a bowl and grabbing another one. You started scrubbing at a stubborn spot of oatmeal that had already hardened onto the bottom.

Ben seemed thoughtful, as he dried the bowl you had just handed him while slowly thinking out loud.

"Wellll…you not only succeeded at a job that she didn't, but you also made your way up the ranks really quickly. And now, you have Negan's attention. So, you have both the job title she could never accomplish, and the man that she thought she had, but who seems to be slipping through her fingers. And you didn't have to give up your partner or job position or anything in the process. I mean, I'd probably dislike you too, if I were in her shoes."

"Gee, thanks," you snorted, picking up a few bubbles from the sink and flicking them in Ben's direction. "It's not like I got the job on purpose. Plus, I don't "have" the man in question. We just…we…hang out?"

Ben laughed at that. "Yea, okay. 'Hang out'. Is that what the kids are calling it these days?"

You picked up a handful of soap bubbles this time, and turned in his direction threateningly.

Ben put his hands up in surrender. "I take it back, I take it back!" he exclaimed, squinting his eyes in preparation for a face full of bubbles.

Smirking, you put your hand back down in the sink, and quipped, "That's what I thought."

The two of you continued to wash and dry the bowls in silence for a bit, your mind playing over what Ben had said about Amber. Suddenly, a thought came to mind.

"So, let's say your idea about Amber disliking me makes sense. What about Trixie? I've literally done nothing to that girl, plus she has a kitchen position and, much as I hate to admit it, she does a really good job here. She even gets more hourly points than any of the other servers, due to her likability and good reviews with everyone. Well, everyone except for me."

Ben shrugged, and replied, "Now, her…I have no clue what her deal is."

You were about to ask if he knew any background information on Trixie, that might help piece together the puzzle, but at that moment the door to the kitchen opened. Both you and Ben whipped your heads around, hoping that it wasn't a threat, since soap bubbles, a dish towel, and some empty bowls were no match against an intruder.

You were relieved when it was just Simon who walked through the door, his lips curled up around his moustache in a smile of greeting.

Unable to help but smile back, you gave a soapy wave and gestured to the bowls in front of you. "I hope you didn't miss breakfast, but if so, we might be able to stir you up a quick bowl of oatmeal."

Simon shook his head, walking across the tiles towards you and Ben. "Nah, I'm good. Already ate."

He was dressed in a tan, button-down shirt, with the sleeves rolled halfway up his biceps. He obviously kept himself in great shape, but his intimidating physique was balanced out by the bright, toothy smile he gave.

"Negan left me with some instructions for while he's gone, to make sure everything runs smoothly around here. One of those instructions was for me to come down here daily, before dinner, and make sure the dinner menu is organized and ready to go. It said to check later this afternoon, when you were doing the prep work. But, since I was passing by the kitchens, I figured it wouldn't hurt to get it out of the way now, and just not tell the boss I did so earlier than commanded," he ended with a wink.

You internally grinned, because overseeing the dinner menu wasn't something Negan had ever felt the need to "check on" before, especially not right before dinner. It was obvious that he just wanted Simon to keep an eye on the kitchen, and therefore on you. You might've been annoyed at Negan, and seen it as him not trusting you, but considering how you had just ran off a few days ago, you couldn't blame him for being a bit paranoid. In fact, it was actually kind of endearing, to know that he considered you important enough for his right-hand man to check on each day.

Briefly taking the towel from Ben, so that you could dry off your hands, you walked over and opened a nearby drawer. You pulled out the notebook where you had written down the dinner menu for the week, complete with ingredient lists and prep work assignments for each scheduled staff member. Turning around, you handed it over to Simon.

Scanning the list, his brows rose as he read the menu for tonight's dinner. "Damn, mashed potatoes AND meatloaf in the same meal?" His eyes widened when he saw what was written further down, whispering, "Oh my lord, there's even ice cream on here."

You smiled at his awed excitement. "A couple of men brought back a deer the other day, so we decided to try and make a meatloaf out of it. And it was actually Ben's brilliant idea to try and make some ice cream using coconut milk, which we have back in the freezer now, so we'll see how that turns out today."

You hoped that it would all come together nicely, because if so, it was sure to give a much-needed boost of excitement to members of the compound. You hadn't been the only one out of sorts over the past week; there had been a a dip in morale after Harry's public punishment, with people being less likely to smile at each other in passing, and talking in hushed whispers during dinner. Hopefully, a hearty dinner and some delicious dessert would help some of the paranoia, and add a bit of a homey, warm vibe, to counteract the cold harshness of that brutal event. You didn't expect people to forget what had happened, but you also wanted to remind them that there were positive things that happened around here too, and that there could be rewards to balance out the punishments.

Simon looked over at Ben, who had ducked his head at your praise, so that his hair fell into his eyes.

"Well done, my boy. I fuckin' love ice cream!" Simon exclaimed.

Maybe it was just the lighting, but you swore you saw Ben's cheeks go red at the compliment, as he gave a quiet, "Thank you," in response.

You were distracted from Ben, when Simon turned to you with a grin, "The food at the outpost _sucked_. It all came in a can or was some military grade shit that you just added water to. And this whole damn time, Negan's been feasting on real meals. No wonder he put us on outposts, and not himself. Asshole."

You gasped at Simon's words; you hadn't ever heard someone speak in such an openly honest way about Negan. However, his words sounded almost affectionate, including the name calling. You wondered just how Negan and Simon had come to know one another, and what it was about him that caused Negan to trust him with so much responsibility at both the outposts and here.

Simon gave off a positive vibe, and seemed friendly enough, although you could tell that he also had an aura of power about him, and wasn't someone to be messed with. Chances were, on top of being loyal, he could also be ruthless and brutal when needed, or else Negan wouldn't trust him so much.

Simon handed the list back to you, before walking over to where Ben was preoccupied with washing silverware at the sink. He clapped a large palm on the younger man's shoulder, and you missed whatever it was that he said to Ben, since you were returning the notepad from the drawer. However, you were sure it was some type of compliment about the ice cream idea.

Rather than give a casual reply, Ben appeared to stammer a bit, before dropping the fork he was holding onto the floor, the metal clattering loudly as it bounced off the tiles. Ben was never that clumsy, and you frowned at his unusual reaction to Simon.

Turning and bending over, Simon reached down to pick up the fork. It wasn't until you saw Ben's eyes move down over Simon's body, before stopping at his bent-over ass, that the realization hit you. _Ben has the hots for Simon!_

Confused, you tried to think back over past conversations with Ben. You swore he had mentioned a girlfriend from before the apocalypse started, although the two of you had never gone overly in depth about your past, since it brought up too many painful memories. And hadn't he just called Amber sexy a few minutes ago?

Straightening up and handing the fork back to a nervous Ben, Simon seemed satisfied that his duty here was done. He gave Ben another clap on the back, and you swore it was all Ben could do not to drop the fork again. Saying that he'd be first in line for a table tonight at dinner, Simon gave a wave of goodbye and walked out of the cafeteria, Ben's eyes following him the entire time.

When he was gone, you turned to Ben, who was still staring at the door where Simon had just exited. Even from a few feet away, you could see the flush on his face, a flush that got deeper when he turned and saw you were watching him.

"I didn't know Simon was your type," you commented.

You saw the hesitation on Ben's face at your words, the way his eyes darted down to the floor, before he seemed to jolt himself out of it and put his signature carefree smile back on.

"I have multiple types, and they don't just include women," he said with a wink.

You weren't fooled by his light-hearted response, and could tell that he was nervous as to your reaction. While it hadn't been information you knew about him before now, the fact that Ben was attracted to both men and women didn't change the way you viewed him. It was just another piece of the puzzle that made up who he was. Same as how you knew that his favorite color was green, and that he had been an only child whose parents died in a car crash, years before the apocalypse even began, this was just another piece of information that helped you to better understand the man standing in front of you. And the idea that anyone would be unsupportive or cruel to him for something as harmless as his sexual interests, was one that made your blood boil.

Smiling at him, you joked back, "Well, so long as your type doesn't include Negan, we won't have any problems."

 _Oh my god, why did you say that?! Jesus, you sound like a possessive psycho girlfriend!_

You were just about to take back your words, and apologize, when Ben gave a huffed laugh. He sounded a bit relieved, when he replied, "Oh trust me, Negan is _not_ my type. Sure, he's nice to look at, but I prefer my partners to not have multiple active marriages or a resume that includes countless murders."

"Touché," you replied, thankful that Ben hadn't seen your comment as offensive or unnecessarily possessive. "Although, who's to say that Simon doesn't have a few murders under his belt, as well? I mean, he _is_ Negan's right-hand man, and I'm sure for a good reason."

"Touché to you, as well," Ben bantered back. "However, I'll still take the single and unattached murderer over the married-to-five-women one."

Rolling your eyes, you surrendered, "Alright, fine, you win."

"I usually do," Ben smugly replied, walking away with a pile of clean bowls before you could scoop up another bubble grenade and launch it at him.

"What about the moustache?" you called after him. "Are you a fan?"

Ben looked back at you and grinned, his face lighting up at your question. "Oh yea, I am. It gives me Burt Reynolds or Tom Selleck vibes, ya know?"

"Huh…you're right, it does," you replied. "Maybe you can get him a big bear-skin rug to lay out on," you joked, wiggling your eyebrows at him.

You could tell that he understood your reference to the famous Burt Reynolds photo shoot from back in the 1970s, because he glanced down at the ground shyly, trying to hide the blush on his face as he muttered, "Hilarious. You're absolutely hilarious," before continuing across the kitchen to put the clean bowls away.

You grabbed another pile of clean bowls and followed after him, the two of you changing the subject to the much safer topic of what would be needed for dinner prep tonight. Once the bowls were put away, you washed and dried the silverware and water glasses, as well. It took a decent chunk of time, but it went fast, the two of you chatting away about random topics.

When all the dishes were clean and back in their rightful places, you turned off the lights and followed Ben out of the kitchen. After walking down the hall together, he left you at the door to the stairwell, saying that he wanted to go outside to the gardens and check up on some of the produce, to see when it would be ready to harvest.

He gave a smile and walked off, so you entered the stairwell on your own. Thoughts of Negan were already beginning to enter your brain, now that you were alone. However, the thoughts were halted in their tracks when you heard the unmistakable sound of a sob echoing off the enclosed space.

Hesitantly walking up to the third-floor landing, you came around the last turn of steps and saw none other than Trixie sitting at the top, with her head in her hands. Unsure what to do, you slowly climbed the flight of stairs towards her. She must not have heard you until now, instead being too focused on whatever had her upset, because her head whipped up at the sound of your sneakers echoing off the steps right in front of her.

She looked up in surprise, tears hanging from her lashes and trailing down over both her cheeks. Focusing on you with eyes that looked too big for her face, she gave a snort when she saw who it was.

"Of course," she said in a voice that was low and raspy from crying. "Of course, it would be you."

Suddenly, you really wished you had gone out to the gardens with Ben. Checking produce sounded like a trip to the spa compared to the situation in front of you. _What the fuck am I supposed to do?_

Your brain was telling you that, despite your dislike of her, the polite thing to do would be to ask her what was wrong. Meanwhile, your subconscious was hissing at Trixie like a pissed-off cat and telling you to keep walking and ignore her.

You were tempted to go along with your subconscious, when another involuntary sob made its way out of Trixie's throat. She looked so damn young and helpless, curled up on the step with red-rimmed eyes and a wet patch on the front of her shirt from her tears, and before you realized what you about to do, you sat down on the edge of the step next to her, your bodies about a foot apart from one another.

Before you could figure out what to say, she whispered, "Just get the hell out of here, I don't need your help."

Puffing out a sigh, you looked upward and prayed for divine patience. Your subconscious called you a traitor and stormed out of the stairwell on its own, leaving you and your brain to try and figure out what the fuck you were supposed to do next.


	41. Extending an Olive Branch

The two of you sat in silence, you staring straight ahead at the off-white wall of the stairwell, while Trixie had her head bowed in her hands, with her elbows balanced on her thighs. The only noise was the sound of her heavy breathing echoing around the enclosed space, as she tried to keep any more sobs from breaking free.

You were unsure of what to say, and so decided that it was best to say nothing, rather than risk further upsetting her or pissing her off. Your eyes followed along a crack near the ceiling, before fixating on a spider web that was spread out in the corner.

Trixie finally broke the silence, her words low and mumbled into her chest.

"You ever think about running away?"

Surprised by the question, you took a few long seconds to think about it, before honestly answering, "And going where?"

She sighed, lifting her head, so that her chin was on the palm of one hand, eyes staring down the flight of steps in front of her.

"I don't know. Sometimes, I think that maybe…just maybe…if I could run far enough, I'd come out the other side, ya know? Like, maybe there's an end to all this…you just have to find the edge, and step across. And, once you do, walkers don't exist anymore, and people are able to live normally. It's where things never changed, and everyone I cared about is safe."

This was a much different side of Trixie than the girl who smirked at you during dinner and interrogated you in the locker rooms, and you were almost unsure if she was being genuine, and was instead baiting you. But, then you remembered that there was no way she would've expected you to be awake and coming back up the stairwell from breakfast today, since that wasn't your normal routine, so there was no way that she could've planned this encounter.

Still treading lightly, just in case, you replied, "I think that's a nice fantasy."

She finally looked over at you, her eyes locking onto yours with a childlike desperation that reminded you just how young she really was. No part of her expression showcased deception or dishonesty, and you realized that she was, for some reason, deciding to bare a piece of herself to you.

"It is. It's one that I have every single day. Some days…it's the only thing that keeps me going."

She stated the end quietly, her gaze once again going back to her lap. Despite all your previous annoyance with her, and the multiple times you envisioned smacking that smirk off her face, you felt all that melting away at her admission. It was so easy to forget that you didn't know much about people's pasts, before the apocalypse. You didn't know what they had to do, to survive until this point…who they might've lost. Trixie would've been barely 18 when everything had started, which, before all this, would've meant she was just figuring out her identity and where she fit in the world. Perhaps, she had been preparing for college, had envisioned a future full of dreams and happy endings, all to have it stolen away in the blink of an eye. And now, in this new world, she was thrown into the identity of being an independent adult, with no choice on the matter. No one was here to take care of her, and she was stuck trying to survive in a harsh world on her own. To forfeit all her hopes and dreams in favor of washing dishes and serving food to people who, before she had arrived here, she hadn't even known existed.

You had, mistakenly, let Trixie's sassy attitude and condescending demeanor blind you to the scared and uncertain young woman sitting beside you. And, really, you could relate to that, because you used your own sarcasm to deflect any deeper emotions. Or, at least, you had done that when first arriving here, before Ben and Negan had started slowly chipping away at your armor, and proved to you that there were people who would accept you, flaws and all. Trixie obviously hadn't had anyone like that here, so you couldn't blame her for being bitter. Loneliness and fear were two toxic emotions, that could make a person do and say things they might later regret.

Since you hadn't been able to open up to Ben or Negan without them giving you a nudge and being honest first, you decided to give Trixie a break, and extend an olive branch of sorts. This time, it was your turn to open up first.

"Ya know, I believe that you're right, and that maybe there _is_ another side out there. But it isn't here…not on this plane. Call it heaven or reincarnation or eternal nothing, but whatever you believe it is, it's a different place, one where the apocalypse doesn't exist."

Images from your past, of those you cared about and loved, flashed through your mind, as you spoke your next words.

"The only ones stuck here forever are the undead, but the people we cared about…they moved on to that next place. Eventually, we'll all go there…but until then, we have to find joy where we can. We laugh and love and watch out for one another, because while it sometimes sucks here, it's not all bad, not unless we let it be. The world might be different than before, harsher. But, where there's people, there's still hope, and a chance at happiness, if we're brave enough to take it."

It was only when you stopped talking that you felt the few tears that had started to slide down your cheeks. While you'd always believed the words, it hadn't been until you said them out loud that you _really_ believed them.

Trying to discreetly wipe the tears off your cheeks, you were grateful to look over and see that Trixie was still looking down the steps, and not at you. Her tears had slowed, and she appeared thoughtful, as if letting your words sink in. Unlike you, she made no effort to hide the motion of wiping her cheeks with the back of her hand, removing the tears. In that way, when it came to being openly vulnerable, she was braver than you were.

"Why are you here, talking to me? I've been a horrible bitch to you."

Your lips curled up briefly at her words, and you didn't disagree.

"Because you're obviously upset, and no one deserves to cry alone in a stairwell. Plus, you're on dinner duty tonight, and our best server, so I can't have you out of sorts and letting the rolls burn."

She gave the ghost of a smile at that, looking a little more composed now, than she had before. Her eyes were dry, but still red, when she switched the conversation to what you suspected was the real reason for her mini breakdown.

"Amber's been…coaching me, I guess you could say," she said, twisting her fingers in her lap.

Confused, you parroted, "Coaching you?"

"Yea, on how to get Negan's attention. Not long after I arrived here, and started working in the kitchens, she asked me to meet with her, alone. I did, and she explained to me how you have to secure your place here, if you wanna survive, and that the best way to do that would be to become one of Negan's wives. That working for points in the kitchen wasn't going to cut it for me, in the long run. She started telling me ways I could run into him, and how to flirt with him, put myself more in his view. I tried to do what she told me…but it's obvious that he's not interested in me, no matter how many of her "tricks" I try to use. The only one I refused to do was go to his rooms late in the evening. I was too afraid of how he might react, of it backfiring. So, I kept putting it off, saying I had to stay late in the kitchens or whatever, so that she wouldn't get mad at me."

Your fists were clenched at your sides in anger at Amber, but you kept quiet, so that she would continue.

Trixie gave a huff of laughter, "Guess it doesn't matter now, because she's pissed at me, anyways. I tried to ask her for a favor earlier, and, instead, she laid into me about how irresponsible I was, and how I shouldn't expect anything from her, because I was the one who fucked up."

A fresh tear made its way down Trixie's cheek, but she ignored it. "And she's right, I did fuck up. I'm just so exhausted with everything. Trying to get Negan's attention, listening to Amber lecture me on what I'm doing wrong, and now…now…"

She trailed off, reluctant to disclose whatever else it was that was going on. Assuming that it had something to do with the "favor" she had asked Amber earlier, you pressed, "You can tell me, Trixie. I'm not going to get mad at you for whatever it is. We all fuck up sometimes, but that doesn't mean we deserve to be miserable because of it."

Giving a slow nod, Trixie still refused to look at you, as she slowly said, "I was supposed to get my period over a week ago, but it hasn't started yet…so what if I'm…I could be…pregnant."

She whispered the last word, but you heard her clearly, as thoughts of her and Dwight swam through your head. You felt a flood of anxiety at the thought of her being pregnant. The apocalypse was hardly the proper setting for a teen mom situation, and you had no clue what Negan's rules would be with something like this, since no one, to your knowledge, had ever been pregnant here. Also, Trixie didn't know that you were aware of her and Dwight's relationship, or whatever it was, so you needed to tread carefully with your response.

"Does the father know?"

She shook her head, "No, and I don't want him to, not until I know for sure. It wouldn't be worth whatever his reaction would be, to tell him without being certain."

"And don't worry," she added. "It's not Negan's."

You almost gave a laugh at that, but held it together, knowing that Trixie would probably think you were laughing at her, and not because you knew who the father actually would be.

"So that's what you told Amber, when she got mad at you?"

"Yea, I thought maybe she could help me out. There weren't any pregnancy tests at commissary, and I thought maybe the wives kept some in their quarters. Ya know, just in case. Instead, she told me how being pregnant would ruin any chance I had with Negan, and she didn't want to be involved with a situation like that, or with someone who was stupid enough to get pregnant in the first place. It's not like I don't use condoms, because I do. I _always_ do. But, people sometimes get pregnant anyways, right? I knew people who said it happened to them, before this whole thing started."

She finally turned to look at you, her face searching yours for some indication as to your thoughts. Keeping a fairly neutral expression, you nodded.

"It can still happen, yea. But if you were always using protection, then you didn't fuck up, like Amber said. Plus, it takes two people to have sex, so this situation isn't totally on you."

Knowing that you were eluding to the fact that the father would also have some responsibility in this, her jaw tightened, but she gave a sharp nod of agreement. Whether or not he was currently in a cell, if Trixie was indeed carrying Dwight's child, you'd make damn sure he stepped up to the plate and did what was necessary to help her.

However, you first had to find out if there was even a reason to involve Dwight. Contemplating for a few seconds, you then got to your feet, mind made up.

"Come on," you said, walking up the last step and over to the door that led out onto the third floor.

Looking unsure, Trixie asked, "Where are we going?"

"We're going to get you a test, and figure this whole thing out."

Eyes widening, Trixie stared at you for a few seconds, as if waiting to see if you were joking, before she slowly stood up from the steps. Following you out of the stairwell, the two of you walked down the hall, which was thankfully empty, since it was obvious that she had just been crying. Your subconscious had joined the two of you, its previous anger replaced by a determination to see this mission through, even if it still didn't fully trust Trixie.

You stopped at the door to the single-stall bathroom, the one where you had cleaned the blood and gunk off of Ricardo, after your first forest outing with Negan. Opening the door, you gestured for Trixie to go inside, but didn't follow her.

"Splash some water on your face, and take a breather. I'm going to go down to medical and get a test. Keep the door locked, and I'll give two loud knocks when I get back, so you'll know it's me."

Her eyes were huge, as she nodded. You were about to close the door, when she blurted, "Wait! What are you going to tell medical? They're going to want to know who it's for!"

Truth be told, you hadn't really thought that far ahead. "I'll figure something out. Don't worry, I won't mention you."

With that, you closed the door, waiting until you heard the sound of the lock turn, before you went back to the stairwell and down to the first floor, where medical was located. You were glad to see that there was currently only one other compound member there, and Dr. Carson was just finishing up with them. The other person soon left, leaving just you and the doctor. He appeared to tense up a bit, when he saw you, not that you could blame him, after your last interaction.

"How's your head?" he asked.

"It's fine," you returned with a smile. "But, look, I need to ask you for a small favor, and I'm hoping we can keep this between the two of us. You know, doctor-patient confidentiality and all that."

Brows furrowing, he gave a nod. "Of course."

Eyes darting around, to make sure the two of you were still alone, you tried to sound confident when saying, "I need a pregnancy test."

Carson stared at you in shock for a few long seconds, before he stammered a response. "I…uh…does Negan know?"

Jerking your head back in surprise, you asked, "What does Negan have to do with any of this?"

He looked almost embarrassed, eyes dropping downward, as a flush appeared on his cheeks. "Well, the two of you, I mean…I don't think he'd appreciate me hiding something like that from him."

You started to get annoyed at this exchange, especially since Carson was assuming not only that the test was for you, but that you were possibly pregnant with Negan's child. Never mind that it would be the logical conclusion for him to make, after seeing you in Negan's bed. You didn't have time for these games, or for him to turn into a blubbering idiot at the first thought of the man in charge.

"Look, it's not for me, okay? It's for a friend, and she doesn't want anyone to know. So, please, give me a test, I'll get out of your hair, and we'll act like this never happened. Otherwise, I'll have to take the issue to Negan when he gets back, and I really doubt he'd enjoy hearing that you denied a potentially pregnant woman access to a confirmation test."

You had no clue if the threat would work, but apparently it was sufficient, because Carson walked over to a nearby cabinet and opened a drawer. Pulling out a rectangular, pink box, he closed the drawer and handed the test to you.

"Pee on the strip for at least five seconds, then give it three minutes to show a result."

Nodding, you took the box from him, tucking it into the waistband of your jeans and pulling your shirt down over it. "Thank you."

Not wanting to leave Trixie alone any longer than necessary, in case she got paranoid and left, you quickly exited the medic station, practically sprinting up the flights of steps back to the third floor. You reached the bathroom and gave two loud knocks. A few seconds later, you heard the door unlock, and it opened a crack, Trixie's face peering through. She sighed in relief when she saw it was you, and opened the door further, to let you inside.

Entering the bathroom, you closed and locked the door behind you, before handing the box to Trixie. Her eyes lit up, and for the first time since you saw her on the stairwell, she didn't look totally hopeless.

"Double check the instructions on the back, but Carson said to pee on it for at least five seconds, and then wait three minutes before checking for a result."

Nodding, Trixie started to tear open the box, so she could pull out the test. Suddenly feeling awkward, you started towards the door, meaning to leave and give her some privacy.

"Wait," she said, stopping you in your tracks. "Can you…can you stay with me, 'til I see the results?"

Her eyes looked huge as she waited for your response, and you wondered if she expected you to laugh and say your job here was done, and that she was on her own now. You'd be lying if you said the thought hadn't entered your head, because the last thing you needed was to be drawn further into this, especially if she was actually pregnant.

"Plus…I don't have a way to know when three minutes is up," she added, as further incentive.

Taking a deep breath, you replied, "Okay, fine. I'll stay."

"Thank you," she replied, turning and walking into the bathroom stall.

Fiddling with your watch, you turned it to the timer setting, the digital letters showing all zeros. _Bet Negan never expected I'd use the watch for THIS,_ you thought.

"Tell me when you're ready, and I'll start the timer," you said, walking over to the sink. You turned on the faucet, trying to give Trixie a bit of privacy with the noise, so it wasn't obvious that you were standing there waiting for her to pee.

When she called out, "Ready!" you hit the start button on the watch and turned off the water.

Trixie stayed in the stall, while you stared at your reflection in the mirror hanging above the sink, before looking down to watch the numbers adding up on the timer. _What the hell are you going to say, if it's positive? Would you have to tell Negan? How would a baby even fit in here? Would Trixie still have to work, or would Negan take her in, 'til after the baby was born? Or maybe he'd expect Dwight to take care of her?_

Dozens of questions raced through your head during those three minutes, and it seemed both a second and an eternity until you saw 3:00 flash across the watch, and hit the button to stop the timer.

"Okay," you said. "Time's up."

There was a long stretch of silence, and you stood frozen, waiting to hear a sob or a laugh or _something_ to give you an indication of the results. Instead, the door to the stall opened, and Trixie emerged, clutching the strip in her hand and looking at you with the biggest smile on her face.

"It's negative!" she cried, brandishing the strip in front of her, so that you could see the single red line that indicated a negative result. "I'm not pregnant!"

Unable to stop from smiling in response, you said, "That's great, Tri-" you stumbled back a step as Trixie catapulted herself at you, wrapping her arms around your waist in a tight hug that caught you completely off guard.

Quickly breaking the hug, she seemed to realize how out of character her reaction was, taking a step back and shyly saying, "Thank you so much. I…I can't even say what a relief this is. Although…that still doesn't explain why my period is late."

Shrugging, you said, "Well, it's possible that it's out of whack due to stress. It seems like Amber has been putting a lot of pressure on you, lately, and with you feeling so overwhelmed, that could set your period back a bit, or cause you to skip it altogether."

"I'm done with her," Trixie declared.

You didn't respond, but were internally glad with her decision. You weren't sure what Amber's problem was, or why she had to be such a bully to other women, such as Trixie and Maria, but she was quickly climbing to the top of your shit list.

"Just so you know, Amber's not only pissed at me," Trixie confided, putting the pregnancy strip back into the empty box, before wrapping it all up in a few layers of paper towels and shoving it to the bottom of the nearby garbage can. "She also has it out for you, because she suspects something is going on with you and Negan, something that could threaten her status here."

"Oh?" you dumbly replied. After talking to Ben this morning, you had figured Amber felt threatened by your connection with Negan, but now your suspicions were confirmed.

"Yea, she told me a few weeks ago that she had a bad feeling about you, and I'm sure I didn't help matters when I told her that you had been told to bring Negan dinner a couple times. When I interrogated you in the showers, the other week? That was Amber's idea. She wanted me to question you, and find out if you were screwing Negan. And she told me that I better get answers, if I wanted her to keep helping me. She didn't talk to me for almost a week after that, since I wasn't able to get any proof from you."

The pieces started to fall into place, in regards to why Trixie had been so intent on keeping an eye on you during dinner, and being so pleased when Negan visited the kitchen. The more info she had for Amber, the less flack she would get, in return.

"You said that Amber had a bad feeling about me, even before she knew about the dinner trays? Did she say why?"

You had never really interacted with Amber in the past, and she rarely came down from the fourth floor, to even notice what you were doing or if you were talking to Negan. You were curious as to why she had been so suspicious of you back then, when you had only been to Negan's rooms a couple of times, at that point.

"Yea…I…I probably shouldn't tell you this…"

Trixie looked down at the ground, as if contemplating her next words carefully. She seemed to make her decision, because she squared her shoulders and brought her eyes up to meet yours. "But, you helped me out today, more than Amber ever would've. So, I'll give you some information, if we can call it an even truce, with what happened today?"

You nodded, and held out your hand. Trixie held out her own, and the two of you shook on it. "Deal."

Taking a deep breath, Trixie leaned forward to whisper, even though there was no one around to hear. Both your heart and subconscious were stunned into frozen silence, while you tried your best not to fall over in shock, as Trixie proceeded to drop the equivalent of a nuclear bomb on you, causing an emotional explosion that you had been nowhere near prepared for.


	42. The Turning Point

You were moving mechanically around the kitchen. It was reminiscent of how you had acted three days ago, except this time, you weren't on auto pilot due to being upset and hurt by Negan's cruel words. No, now you were on auto pilot because the majority of your brain functioning was focused on trying to process the information Trixie had told you yesterday.

Thinking back to that moment in the bathroom, you still couldn't believe the words that had come out of her mouth…

0 – 0 – 0 – 0 – 0 – 0 – 0

 _Trixie had leaned in close to you, her voice low, as she whispered, "He stopped sleeping with Amber, and the rest of his wives, weeks ago."_

 _Quickly pulling your head back, you stared intently at her, to see if she was lying. Her face was completely serious, and while you were trying to keep a neutral expression at the information, you were probably failing._

" _What do you mean, he stopped sleeping with them?" you asked, your words coming out a bit hoarser than you wanted._

" _Well," she said, voice still low, "from what Amber told me, Negan has seemed a bit…preoccupied, starting maybe about a month ago. I don't know how many explicit details you want, but basically, he didn't seem overly engaged in sex. She said that he went through the motions fine, but then left more abruptly than before, and didn't seem as into it. But, Amber just figured he was dealing with a lot, in regards to the other communities, and would come back around, once he got everything figured out."_

 _You stood there, staring at Trixie while she talked, head buzzing and fingertips tingling as you tried to comprehend what she was saying. She seemed unaware of what a huge bomb she had just dropped on you, and you were grateful that she continued to talk, without being prodded, because you were currently unable to form words._

" _I've been talking to Amber here and there, since I first arrived, but it wasn't until a couple of weeks ago that she really started hammering me about being one of Negan's wives. She came to me, I think it was the day before I talked to you in the showers, and told me that Negan had turned her down for sex, which he never had never done before, and she wanted to know why. She asked if I had heard or seen anything out of the ordinary, since I overhear a lot from people while serving dinner, and I mentioned that the only thing strange was Negan sending for you to bring him dinner a couple of times. That's when she asked me to interrogate you. Well…more like she commanded me to. She threatened to make my life a living hell here, if I said a word to anyone about it. So, of course, I tried to talk to you, but you wouldn't budge, no matter how much I taunted. And I tried to watch you and Negan together as best I could, when he visited the kitchens, but I didn't have any concrete evidence for her, other than the fact that you two have some obvious chemistry, and Negan obviously wants to fuck you way more than he wants to fuck Amber. It's written all over his face anytime he's near you."_

 _You still didn't say anything, but that was fine, because Trixie still had some more intel to impart, and continued._

" _Since he stopped sleeping with her, she's gotten more and more fixated on finding out what's going on, as well as pushing me to get Negan's attention, and see if he'll make me a wife. I guess Amber got most of Negan's attention, in the past, and so she hasn't taken kindly to being ignored by him the past couple of weeks. The other wives don't seem to mind too much, according to Amber, since him not sleeping with them anymore hasn't affected any of their privileges here. I don't know if that's true, or if any of them are actually bothered by it, but I think it's safe to say that none of them care nearly as much as Amber does."_

 _Trixie then abruptly stopped talking, as if realizing just how much information she had given you. She looked a little panicked all of a sudden, twisting her hands in front of her nervously._

" _You…you're not going to tell Amber that I told you, right? I mean…I don't know if I can handle her trying to make my life miserable here. I've seen how she acts when she thinks she's trying to supposedly help me out, let alone how she'd be if she had it out for me."_

 _Your brain was still trying to frantically gather up the little bits of itself that had exploded all over the floor, after hearing this revelation, so it wasn't very much help to you right now. And your subconscious was happily cackling and bouncing all around the bathroom, oblivious to your brain's distress._

" _No, of course not," you mumbled, trying to figure out how best to respond, without it being obvious how affected you were by all of this._

" _Uh…thanks for the information. It makes sense, why you think Amber has it out for me. I'll be sure to…to, uh…to keep an eye out for her." You plastered a fake-as-hell grin on your face. Chances were, it looked more like a deranged grimace._

 _Trixie gave a little huff of amusement. "You're still not going to tell me what's going on with you and him, are you?"_

" _Nope!" you immediately declared._

" _Fine, fine. I get it. But, like I said earlier, we're even now, right? Keeping quiet about the pregnancy test, in exchange for me telling you about Amber? And I promise not to say anything to anyone else, about what Amber told me, either. To be honest, I just want to be out of the situation and left alone. Being a wife isn't worth all of this crap."_

 _You nodded mechanically in response. "Yep, we're good. My lips are sealed."_

0 – 0 – 0 – 0 – 0 – 0 – 0

After that, you had barely registered when Trixie exited the bathroom, leaving you to stand there staring at the wall for who knows how long, before you finally felt able to walk back down the hall to your bedroom. You had barely been able to gather yourself together a few hours later, for dinner prep. Thankfully, Ben had been too preoccupied himself, to overly notice your own distress. Chances were, he was trying to mask his own thoughts and feelings, about Simon, the way you were trying to do so about Negan.

Once dinner was served, you had retired from the kitchen a bit early. Neither Ben nor the other staff said anything about your premature exit, which you were thankful for. Both the meat loaf and ice cream had been a huge hit among the diners. You had even caught a glimpse of Simon diving into a big bowl of ice cream earlier, and chuckled at the sight of a few drops of the dessert that had gotten caught in his moustache. The kitchen staff were currently too excited about having their own servings, now that the community was fed, to be upset at you leaving.

Instead of returning to your room, you had gone outside, to the picnic table, and spent the rest of the evening staring off into space and trying to make sense of everything. You hadn't come back inside until everyone else was back in their rooms and fast asleep, minus the guards patrolling the fences. The only sleep that had greeted you was full of tossing and turning and abstract dreams that didn't make a whole lot of sense.

And today hadn't been much better.

You were barely able to concentrate during dinner prep. Ironically, you had joked with Trixie yesterday about not burning the rolls, when really it was _you_ who had almost ruined the main dish multiple times, due to not paying attention.

Speaking of Trixie, she had been surprisingly cordial today, giving you a genuine greeting when you entered the kitchens and being more focused on her job than on you, for once. In fact, you hadn't seen one smirk on her face, yet. Perhaps running into her in the stairwell had been a positive twist after all, even if it had resulted in one of the most confusing 24 hours you'd had, since arriving here.

You had tried, repeatedly, to figure out the timeline of the information Trixie had given you, the details driving your brain into the ground with exhaustion. She said Negan had started acting strange about a month ago… _which is when he first found you, out in the woods_ , your subconscious helpfully added.

And then, she had said that he first turned Amber down a day before Trixie interrogated you in the showers… _which was the same day you had played that chess match, and kicked his ass_. Once again, your subconscious chimed in, sitting on the counter with legs crossed and staring at its nails in boredom. Apparently, it didn't understand why this news was so hard for you to digest, when it thought you should be thrilled by the revelation, instead.

And it wasn't that you _weren't_ thrilled…it's just that you were still confused by all of this. Back then, during the chess match, you and Negan hadn't even kissed a second time, yet. And your interactions had been very few, so was it really because of _you_ that he had stopped sleeping with his wives…or were you giving yourself too much credit?

Slamming a dirty pot into the sink a little harder than was necessary, you felt beyond frustrated at all the 'what ifs' that were swirling around in your head. Over analyzing them wasn't going to make an answer magically appear, but reminding yourself of that logic still wasn't enough to make the questions go away.

Even the fact that Trixie's words had gotten into your head so much was starting to piss you off. In the past, with any other guy, that idea that he hadn't slept with someone else for a couple of weeks wouldn't have been a big deal. In fact, you'd have been wary of caring about someone who had only gone a little over a fortnight without dipping his dick in someone else. But now, here, in this world, and with a man like Negan…such information was a revelation.

You had just packed up the tiny bit of leftovers, which were a lentil stew, and put them in the cooler, when Trixie came back in from the cafeteria and walked over to you.

"We might wanna get an extra tray of bowls set up, and use up the rest of the food," she suggested.

"Why's that?" you asked, wondering how you could've missed any diners.

"Because the men just came back from the supply run, and they're asking if it's too late for them to have some dinner."

Freezing in place, your subconscious jumped off the counter happily and yelled, _He's back!_ Clearing your throat, you mentally smacked yourself back to the situation at hand. You could freak out about Negan's return later.

"Sure, we should have enough food left for them," you replied, turning back to the cooler, to retrieve the leftovers.

Once the rest of the food had been placed in clean bowls and sent out to the small group of Saviors who had returned, you sat and ate your own meal at the large island counter, with Ben and the others. You barely tasted the food, your mind outside the kitchen and wandering up to the fourth floor, where Negan was, most likely, currently located.

Once you were all done eating, including the Saviors out in the cafeteria, you delegated the dish washing duties to three of the newer staff members, before dismissing everyone else. Ben gave you a clap on the back, and the others smiled and said their goodbyes, as they all trickled out of the kitchen in pairs or small groups, chatting happily with one another. You double-checked that the remaining three staff members had everything under control, before exiting the kitchen yourself. Walking through the cafeteria, you scanned the rows of tables on your way out, making sure that all the dishes had been removed and that the flat surfaces were clean and shining.

As you walked down the hall and up the staircase, you thought back, once again, to your conversation with Trixie. Some pieces of the puzzle had started to fall into place, such as why Trixie had been so fixated on trying to become a wife, and why Amber had been such a jerk, not just to you and Trixie, but also to Maria. She probably knew the two of you had been friends, and arrived here together. While you felt bad that your connection to Maria might be why Amber gave her such a rough time, it also pissed you off. You hadn't talked to Maria since that night out at the picnic table, and it might be time to have a sit-down with her again, in the near future.

But first, you needed to figure out what was going on with Negan. Or, more importantly, what was going on with _you_ and Negan. One of the top roadblocks, that had kept you from acknowledging your feelings for him, was the whole wives situation, and the idea that he was fucking at least five other women on the daily. And sure, they were still currently considered his "wives", but the fact that he had stopped sleeping with them for the past few weeks…well, that was huge.

Opening the door to your bedroom, you fully planned on processing this information on your own tonight. Much as you wanted to see Negan, and make sure that he was safe and unharmed from the run, you had too many questions and feelings currently happening, to trust yourself alone with him.

However, your plan was shot to hell when you flicked on the light in your room, and noticed something lying on the bed.

Walking slowly across the room, you saw a rectangular, brown package, with a white string tied in a single crisscross around it. There was no note or identifying marking on the package, and when you picked it up, there was a decent weight to it.

Knowing who the package was from, you weren't sure if you wanted to rip into it with enthusiasm, or slowly unpeel it with dread. You were both excited and worried about knowing what was inside, about how the item could further add to the cacophony of emotions you already had going on.

Walking over to a nearby crate, you pulled out a pair of scissors and used them to cut the string off the package. You smiled at how horribly it was wrapped, the corners folded unevenly with the paper bunched up in places. There was an exorbitant amount of tape along the edges; you could just imagine Negan getting frustrated with trying to fold and tuck in the corners, and angrily grabbing long pieces of tape to throw around it, instead.

Sliding your index finger underneath one of the edges, you tore through the paper and tape, ripping a line down the middle and exposing the top of the package. Your breath caught in your throat at the sight of a hardback book emerging from the paper. Staring in awe, you traced a fingertip across the gold lettering at the top, spelling out the letters: _Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone_.

Tears filled your eyes, and your chest felt as though it was going to burst, as you stared down at the book. _He remembered. He fucking remembered._

It was too much. This, coupled with finding out about his recent celibacy, was too overwhelming for you to handle all at once.

Clutching the book to your chest, you looked across the room at your reflection in the small wall mirror. Staring in silence, you took in your features, scrutinizing them closely, as if they would give up the answers to all of your questions. Taking a deep breath, you nodded at yourself, mind made up, and turned for the door. With book still in hand, you started down the hall; your brain and subconscious marched at your side, both wearing equal expressions of determination.

You needed answers. And you needed them _now_.


	43. Be Honest With Me

You marched to Negan's room, your mind racing and so focused on the questions swirling around in it, that you hardly even remembered going up the stairs and walking down the hall. In fact, it almost seemed as if you had just suddenly appeared in front of his door, and before you knew it, your hand was raising to knock on the solid wood. After hearing his muffled, 'come in,' you turned the knob and opened the door, stepping inside.

He was sitting at his desk, black-rimmed glasses perched on his nose and papers spread out all across the gleaming surface of the desk, most likely full of inventory lists and numbers from the recent run. He glanced up sternly, for just a moment, before refocusing on the papers in front of him. He had obviously been expecting someone else, because his eyes widened in surprise and jerked back up to latch onto your own, before his lips stretched into a genuine smile of greeting. You couldn't help but smile back, a warm, fuzzy feeling starting up in your chest that only added to the confusing plethora of feelings bouncing around inside you.

Hesitantly closing the door, you stepped further into the room. Negan pulled the glasses off and set them on the desk, before pinching the bridge of his nose between two fingers. The chair squeaked across the floor, as he pushed it back with his legs and stood up.

He wasn't wearing his gloves or scarf, and the leather jacket was draped across the back of the chair, leaving his upper body clad in only a grey t-shirt. It took a great deal of willpower not to openly stare at the way the shirt clung to his torso and arms, a teasing reminder of all the tan flesh and tattooed muscles you now knew were hiding under there, thanks to the front row show you had gotten in his room, the other day. Instead, you let your eyes drift for just a moment, before locking them back up on his face. You could think about his body, later. Right now, you needed to know what was going on in his mind.

His gaze flickered down to the book in your hands, and his grin widened, but he didn't say anything. Instead, he looked at you expectantly, eyes twinkling in amusement. He knew how excited you'd be about the book, how you had never expected to own a copy of it, again. The knot in your chest tightened, and you weren't sure if you wanted to laugh, cry, or curse him for being so incredibly thoughtful.

The realization hit that neither one of you had said a word to the other, since you walked in the door. And, despite Negan's usual love of hearing his own voice, the two of you had been communicating strictly with nonverbals...and had understood each other, perfectly.

All of a sudden, you felt shy and uncertain, almost out of your depth, being here. Flustered by the clusterfuck of thoughts racing through your head, you held up the book, and asked, "Where the heck did you find a copy of this?"

His grin stayed in place, as he strolled slowly around the side of the desk, before leaning back against the front of it, a few feet away from you. "Turns out Gregory has a pretty extensive library. I was perusing the shelves while he stammered around, trying to kiss my ass, when they caught my eye."

"They?" Your eyes widened in excitement, all other important questions being temporarily pushed to the side, as you hopefully asked, "Did he have the entire series?"

Negan ran his tongue across his lower lip, then tucked it into his cheek and showcased his pearly whites. "Maybe," he teased. "Let's say he did have them all…what would you be willing to wager for them?"

You felt the first embers of desire start to burn in your stomach, at his words. This was not the path you had wanted the conversation to go, but damn, it was tempting to just ease into flirty banter with him and forget all the questions you had been bottling up. _No, this is what always happens. You get distracted by his charm, and don't get any of the answers you're hoping for,_ your brain chimed in, tapping its foot impatiently.

Giving a mental shake, you steeled your shoulders, and said, "Perhaps we can make a wager, later. I'm more curious to know what made you bring the books back, in the first place."

Giving a noncommittal shrug, he tried to play off your question, by dismissively saying, "I saw them, I grabbed them. Simple as that."

"But _why_ did you grab them," you pressed.

Squinting his eyes at your insistence, as if trying to figure out where you were going with this, he replied, "Does it matter?"

Giving an exasperated huff, you waved the book in front of you. "Of _course_ it matters, Negan."

He looked both confused and annoyed at your interrogation, as well as surprised at you saying his name with such force. You were probably coming across a little more aggressive than would be effective with him, but at this point, you didn't care. You were sliding down a slippery slope with him, and were looking for some type of lifeline to slow down your descent, before you crashed into the bottom and ended up hurt.

"Chill out, doll, before you give yourself a fucking aneurysm," he said, the length of his body still reclining casually, despite the intensity of his expression.

You gave a small snort of false amusement. Chill out…that was rich, coming from him, the king of no chill.

You wanted to ask him about not sleeping with his wives, but were certain it would only cause him to shut down and not answer you, not to mention he'd want to know where you'd gotten that information. And what if he denied it? Then you'd really look like a fool. No, it was best to stick to the safer topic of the books.

"I _am_ chill. All I did was ask a simple question: why you brought back the books. You're the one who's evading whatever the answer is."

"And I did give you a fucking answer, doll. I said I saw them, and therefore, I grabbed them."

Ignoring his shitty excuse of a reply, you tried another tactic. "I'm just curious as to why you went out of your way to grab them for me, when you didn't have to. It's not that I don't appreciate it, because I do. But it doesn't make sense, why I would get a gift like this, without having to use my points or work for it."

You knew you were probably starting to sound like a petulant child at this point, but to be fair, so was he. You knew that his answer wasn't the full truth, that there was more to it, and you were done with accepting his vague, sugar-coated answers to all of your serious questions.

He almost looked uncomfortable at being put on the spot like this, his gaze avoiding yours in favor of staring off to the side. He hadn't been expecting an interrogation to go along with the book, and you wondered if he now regretted the kind gesture. Giving a huff, he ran a hand along the back of his neck. "Does there have to be a reason for me giving you a damn gift?"

"Yes," you responded softly, then steeled your shoulders, and said more firmly, "Yes, there does, at this point. I need to know what is going on here. Are we…friends? Friends who exchange books and play chess and go berry picking together?"

He took a step towards you. "I think it's safe to say that most people don't kiss their _friend_ goodbye, before leaving their room," he said, in reference to the last time you were here.

"Maybe I do," you said stubbornly.

"Well, I sure fuckin' don't," he quipped.

You had already known that kissing him was a huge deal, especially since you were supposedly the only one who had gotten away with doing so, but his words still caused your subconscious to swell with joy.

"So, if we're not friends, then what are we? Technically, you're my boss here, since you run the Sanctuary. But, last time I checked, employees definitely aren't supposed to kiss their boss."

You knew that you were baiting him, that this whole conversation was borderline ridiculous, but it seemed to be the only way to discuss the topic with him, without scaring him off…without scaring _you_ off, as well. Directly coming out and asking if you were in a relationship was too intimidating. It would cause you to feel too vulnerable, put you at risk to be laughed at by him, or told you were a fool. So, instead, you were ruling out other potential labels, in an effort to make more sense of what was going on, to force _him_ to acknowledge what was going on.

He hadn't said anything in response to your boss comment, and was just staring at you neutrally, trying not to give away what he was thinking. However, you focused in on his eyes, looking for any flicker or indicator as to his thoughts, as you said, "So, we've ruled out friendship and a strictly professional relationship. And I sure as hell am not one of your wives…so where does that leave us?"

Still no reaction, so you pressed harder. "Perhaps, I'm more like a companion for hire, then? You pay me with books or a watch, in exchange for my company…" You stared upwards thoughtfully, acting as if you were thinking out loud, contemplating the idea. "Although, that would mean I'm almost like a female escort, or even a hook-"

You were cut off from finishing that thought by him interrupting in a voice that was low and almost a snarl.

"Don't you even fucking _think_ of calling yourself that."

Now you were finally getting a reaction. His eyes had lit up and were blazing warmly at you, not at his full-anger glow, more annoyed or frustrated. And his mouth had tightened into a thin line, showcasing his displeasure with your words.

You felt a tiny ounce of relief, that he had reacted so negatively to that last idea. It wasn't that you saw his wives as sex workers, per say, although the idea that they had (previously, at least) exchanged sex and companionship with Negan for a lap of luxury screamed "sugar daddy", at the very least. And that was _not_ the type of arrangement you wanted from him, no matter how nice the watch or amazing the books.

"So...then, what am I to you?" you asked.

Realizing that you weren't going to let the topic go, you could practically feel the frustration vibrating off of him. You were surprised that he hadn't started pacing at this point, but a glance downwards showed that his hands had a white-knuckled grip on the edge of the desk at either side of his hips. You were pretty certain that that grip was all that was keeping him from gesturing wildly and doing the expected pacing.

"What do you fucking want from me, doll?" he said, his voice sounding strangled and almost pleading. "What answer are you hoping to hear?"

"I don't want a certain answer. I just want the _truth_ ," you simply stated.

He let go of the desk and stood up to his full height, hands coming up from his sides as he harshly waved one in front of himself. You had finally chipped away at his armor, and now that chip was allowing him to finally crack open, and say what he was really feeling.

"The truth?! The fucking truth is that the second I saw those books on Gregory's shelf, I thought of you. Of how fucking excited you'd be, if you were there to see them, too. I didn't stop to think if you deserved them or had enough fucking points for them, or any of that other bullshit. I just grabbed them, because I knew that they'd make you happy. And, apparently, seeing you happy makes me feel fucking happy, as well. Your smile over a book or some berries or a watch is a bright spot in this otherwise fucking depressing place."

"And as far as 'what you are'... _I don't fucking know_ ," he growled, running a hand through his hair, causing a few pieces to stand up and ruffle his otherwise polished exterior. "Unlike every other fucking person in this place, you don't fit into any of the categories I have set up. You're not a wife, you're not a Savior, and you're not just a worker who makes points. You're a goddamn enigma, and I don't have a label or category for you. You're just...you're just _you_."

He finished the last sentence on a harsh exhale, his arms coming back down at his sides, as he seemed to deflate in front of you at the admission. Meanwhile, you were frozen in place, both your brain and subconscious working overtime to process his words. You had wanted his honesty, and he had given it to you. And his response was more than you had hoped for. The fact that he saw you for who you were, as an individual, was huge. You weren't just a means to an end, or someone who served a specific purpose for his community. You were without a label, a round peg who didn't fit into any of the square hole categories he had set up to keep everyone at an emotional distance. It felt as though someone had finally pulled the veil from over your eyes, and let the sun shine through. And the sun was telling you that this man in front of you cared about your happiness and well-being, not because it benefited him in any way, but just because he _wanted_ to see you happy.

Oblivious to the epiphany happening in your brain, Negan looked bemused by your extended silence, hands dangling at his sides as he stared at you with uncertainty swirling across his face. "So, there's the truth. Is that what you wanted to fucking hear?"

You silently stared at him for a few more long moments, before giving a nod and moving forward. Not stopping until you were close enough to reach out and put your free hand on his chest, you tossed the book on the desk behind him and raised up on tiptoe. A whispered, 'yes,' left your lips, right before they sealed onto his own.

He was frozen for a moment, most likely in surprise, but he recovered quickly. His arms came around your waist, as he pulled you in closer, the length of your body molded into his tall, warm frame. He leaned back into the desk again, bringing you with him, so that your pelvis was nestled into the cradle of his thighs. His lips moved lazily over your own, as if he had all the time in the world. The hand on his chest curled, your fingers clinging to the fabric of his shirt to help anchor you, before the emotions in your chest caused you to float up to the ceiling like a balloon.

Slowly pulling back from the kiss, you gazed up at him, taking in his handsome face. You smiled and reached up with your other hand to smooth down the pieces of hair that were still sticking up, before running your hand down over the side of his face, your nails scratching through his beard, causing his eyes to flutter slightly.

"I'm not quite sure what I said right, but doll, remind me to keep saying it, if this is the fucking result," he purred, chuckling when you rolled your eyes with a smile.

Leaning forward, you meant to kiss him again, to shut him up before he said something else and ruined the moment. However, the moment didn't need Negan to ruin it, since the knock at the door did a perfectly good job on its own.

Freezing, you gave a loud sigh, before letting your head fall forward, your forehead thunking into his chest. "You have _got_ to be kidding me," you whispered, the words semi-muffled against his shirt.

"Ah, shit. Sorry, doll. I told Simon to come up after he finished dinner, so we could go over the run and how things went here, while I was gone. I thought you were him knocking, earlier."

Taking a deep breath, you lifted your head and looked up at him. He leaned down and gave you a soft peck, before his arms left your waist, allowing you to take a step back from him. You instantly felt cold and bereft from no longer being pressed against him, and your subconscious was throwing a temper tantrum at being interrupted, while your brain practically dragged it away from Negan.

Grabbing the book from his desk, you turned and walked across the room, towards the door. Feeling bold, you glanced back at him and said, "So, is there any free time on your busy schedule that I can claim in the near future?"

His lips quirked upwards on one side, and he replied, "Fuck yeah, there is. How about I clear my schedule tomorrow evening, and we have dinner up here? Whatever time works best for you, chef."

Grinning, you said, "I should be able to do that, I'll bring two trays around, say, 7 o'clock?"

"It's a date," he quipped, just as another knock sounded on the door.

Turning, you grabbed the knob and opened the door, unsurprised to see a smiling Simon on the other side. He looked completely unfazed to see you there, which actually made you more uncomfortable, rather than less so.

"Hey, there," he greeted with a small wave. "I'm not interrupting anything, am I?'

"No, of course not," you said, perhaps a bit too hastily. Darting past him, and out into the hallway, you gave a quick, "Have a good evening," before starting down the hall.

It wasn't until you were almost back to your room, that what Negan said had really sunk in.

He had called it a date.


	44. Anticipation

The following day couldn't seem to go fast enough. There had been multiple times where you looked down at your watch, only to internally groan to see that only a few scant minutes had passed since the last time you checked. It wasn't as if this was the first time you'd been invited to Negan's rooms after dinner; far from it. But, this time felt different, especially after that kiss the two of you had shared against his desk last night. You felt goosebumps pop up along your forearms just remembering the way he had pulled your body into his, causing you to feel both safe and utterly terrified at the intimacy of the moment. And while it was possible that you were reading too much into it, your gut told you that he hadn't said the word "date" lightly...that the word choice had been deliberate.

Course, there was always the chance that you'd show up and find things no different than before, that you were placing too much importance on tonight, and imagining things that weren't even there. Your subconscious grabbed that little ball of doubt, before it could manifest into something larger, and effectively punted it across the kitchen.

Turning to hand the last full tray to one of the servers, you used the back of your hand to wipe sweat off your brow and looked around the bustling kitchen. You had changed up the menu on your staff at the last minute, deciding on a spaghetti dish with alfredo sauce and fresh mushrooms from the garden, rather than the stew that was originally planned for today. You'd be lying if you said that the change wasn't due to seeing Negan tonight. Pasta seemed like a more date-worthy meal than stew...if it even _was_ a date. Your subconscious glared at you, before turning and baring its teeth at the ball of doubt that had tried to roll closer again.

Going to the swinging doors that separated the kitchen from the cafeteria, you peeked out into the large room, checking to make sure that all of the members had their food and appeared happy and content. Your eyes flickered over a table that appeared to be low on water, so you grabbed a nearby pitcher before walking past groups of chatting individuals and stopping to fill the mostly empty glasses.

Leaning in between two men, you reached down for their glasses, and almost dropped the pitcher when the one raised his head, an expanse of bubbled and healing flesh meeting your gaze. You found yourself staring down into the eyes of Harry, the man whom Negan had punished a little over a week ago. He gave you a small nod and quiet thanks for the refill before turning back to his buddies, causing you to kick yourself back into motion. Hurriedly filling the rest of the table's glasses, you went back into the kitchen, letting out a breath you hadn't known you'd been holding when you stepped through the swinging doors.

You weren't sure what you had expected to happen; it wasn't as if Harry knew about you and Negan, or had any clue as to how his public punishment had kick-started a brutal argument between the two of you. Still, you felt guilty when looking at him...and not for the reason you would have expected.

You weren't feelings guilty because he had been punished, or because you had feelings for the man who had done the punishment. No, you felt guilty because part of you now understood why the punishment had been necessary. Harry was a physical reminder to everyone of the brutality that was Negan; a reminder of what happened when you fucked up and put others in danger. Even though you still were not 100% in agreement with Negan's rules, he had given you a better insight into his thought process the other night, and you were starting to see things from his point of view, as well.

You had given a lot of thought to what Negan had told you before his last run, and realized that it wasn't just Harry falling asleep on the job (which even pre-apocalypse would be grounds for getting fired from a lot of employers) that had made Negan so irate. It was the fact that he had put others in danger of not only getting hurt, but potentially being killed, if they had been bit by any of the walkers that had broken through the fence.

Also, that incident had only been three days after Negan lost Ken in the woods, so it was very likely that he was still recovering from what he saw as his own mistake, and how it had cost Ken his life. No matter that you knew Ken's demise wasn't specifically Negan's fault; _he_ blamed himself for it. So, to see a situation with more potential loss happen because someone else made a mistake just three days later...well...it was getting easier and easier to understand why Negan had lost his temper, and you had to admit that Harry had gotten off fairly easily, considering. If someone had died because of his little nap...you knew he wouldn't even be alive to eat the food he was currently shoveling into his scarred face.

You had been dreading seeing Harry up close, and were surprised that the encounter hadn't affected you in the anticipated manner. You weren't sure what it said about you, that Negan's methods were beginning to sound logical, but that was a topic better left to analyze later.

As if knowing now was the perfect time to offer a distraction, Simon waltzed through the doors of the kitchen, a large smile on his face. He handed his empty dinner plate to a nearby Ben, who had immediately frozen at the sight of the large man, and you prayed that he didn't drop the plate or act as incredibly clumsy as he typically did when in Simon's presence. While it was kind of adorable, you also weren't sure if such an obvious reaction worked for or against his chances with the Savior. And you _did_ think he might have a chance, if the way the older man always seemed to find a reason to visit the kitchens lately was any indication.

Even though Negan had returned from his supply run yesterday, Ben informed you that Simon had still stopped by during breakfast this morning, to "check up on things". Ben seemed completely oblivious to the fact that he might be the reason for such a visit, and you decided to give him some time to figure it out on his own, before making any remarks. Especially since it had taken you a ridiculous amount of time yourself to realize that Negan had done the same thing, and found excuses to be in your presence over the past month.

Walking over to you, Simon's grin was so big as to be almost a snarl. You weren't sure if you liked the gleam in his eyes, or the joyful way he clapped you on the shoulder while exclaiming, "I come bearing a request of two dinner plates for Negan!"

Lowering your eyebrows in confusion, you hesitantly replied, "I was under the impression that I was the one taking dinner to him tonight."

Simon's smile stayed in place, teeth flashing white as he said, "Nonsense! He wants me to take them." At that, he snapped his fingers, before saying, "Chop chop, clock's a tickin'."

Confusion giving way to irritation, you turned to find that Trixie was already in the process of gathering together a tray with two plates of pasta, fresh rolls, and a pitcher of water with accompanying glasses. Seeing her be so helpful was almost more of a shock than seeing Harry earlier had been, especially when she held back from any type of snarky comment or conniving grin as she walked over and handed the tray to Simon."

Taking it from her with a wink, he turned back to you, his voice lowering as he leaned in close. "I'm to meet you in front of Negan's rooms in exactly 15 minutes, so I can show you where to go."

You were going to develop permanent forehead wrinkles if you furrowed your brow any harder, but his words made absolutely no sense. Obviously not willing to give any more information than that, Simon did a one-eighty and exited the room, giving a cheerful, "Later, Ben!" as he left.

It was Ben who unfroze himself first, looking over at you with a flush still on his cheeks, trying to hide a smile. "Well, what are you waiting for?" he said expectantly.

Still not putting two and two together, he gave a sigh at your sudden inability to see logic. Walking over, he took the pitcher of water out of your hand, which you had been clutching in a white-knuckled grip this entire time without even realizing it.

Giving you a gentle nudge with his shoulder, he said, "You've got fifteen minutes to go back to your room and freshen up, perhaps by putting on a shirt that doesn't smell like alfredo." He gave you a considering look and added, "I'd also take your hair down, just to throw him off a bit."

You had told Ben earlier about your dinner plans with Negan, and now realized that Ben also viewed tonight as an actual date, and that you hadn't been overanalyzing the situation, after all. Which meant that...dear god, you really _did_ need to change your shirt, especially since the heat from the boiling pasta water had caused noticeable sweat spots to form under your arms.

Eyes widening, you gave a silent nod to Ben, turning and all but flying out of the kitchen. You had wasted a few minutes being dense about Simon's words, plus the couple of minutes travel time to get to your room and then to Negan's room...shit...that really wasn't much time to look presentable.

Thankfully, most of the compound was either eating or outside guarding the fences, so you didn't see anyone in the halls as you sprinted around turns and up the staircase. Entering your room, you glanced around frantically, before feeling a wave of disappointment so large as to be a bit nauseating.

 _You don't own any nice clothes or anything that isn't a damn t-shirt,_ was your panicked internal monologue. _How the hell are you supposed to "freshen up" for this?!_

Taking a deep breath, you walked over to the crates that held most of your belongings, and took inventory of which clothes were clean. Kicking off your shoes and shimmying out of your regular work jeans, you debated between the jeans with the thigh rip and one of the two pairs of gym shorts that you owned. The shorts would show off more skin, but they would also make you look like you were about to go out running, not sit down for dinner. Grabbing the jeans with the rip, you threw them on and tore your shirt over your head. The snug green t-shirt that gave the best cleavage needed to be washed, of course. In fact, you were overdue to wash laundry, and so were left deciding between the solid grey shirt or the pink shirt with a dove on it. Remembering that the grey one had witnessed your first two make-out encounters with Negan, you went with that one, for good luck. _I've really gotta buy some better clothes at commissary,_ you scolded yourself.

Taking Ben's advice, you pulled out the pins holding your hair up, and it fell down around your shoulders. There were some creases in it, from being pulled up in a bun all day, but you reassured yourself that it just added some extra volume, since you didn't have time to do anything more to it, anyways. Pulling your sneakers back on and applying a liberal amount of deodorant, since you didn't have time for a shower, you power-walked down the hall to the bathroom, wetting a paper towel and wiping the shine off your face. Glancing down at your watch, you saw you had two minutes before you were to meet Simon. Deciding that this was as good as it was going to get, you started for the fourth floor.

Simon was waiting for you in front of Negan's door, as promised, and gave a grin when he saw you. He was the first person you had ever met whose constant smiling was actually more unnerving than if he had been wearing a scowl. You got the impression that there was a lot of knowledge behind that smile, including knowledge about you, and you weren't sure how to feel about it.

Without saying a word, Simon motioned for you to follow him, and started down the hall. You wanted to ask where he was going, but knew he probably wouldn't answer, so instead followed him silently. You hadn't been further down this hall than Negan's rooms before, and you curiously passed by a few doors, some of which you guessed to be storage closets, and at least one of them was probably the room where he held meetings with his men. When you got to the end of the hall, Simon pushed open a door that led to a second staircase you had never seen before. It appeared to be a back entrance of sorts, one that only Negan and his Saviors used.

Simon stood back, giving you room to pass by, and swept his arm out in front of him with a bow. You might have found his actions humorous, if your stomach wasn't flip flopping in confusion of what the hell was going on. Walking forward, you passed by him and stepped into the stairwell, jumping about a foot in the air at the sound of the heavy metal door closing behind you. Since it didn't make any sense why you'd be expected to go down, you walked over to the set of stairs leading upwards, towards the roof.

Your mind raced, trying to piece together why Negan would want to meet up here. He hadn't given any indication or warning that you weren't eating in his room, and the unfamiliar territory made you feel off balance and even more unsure of yourself. Arriving at the top of the stairs, there was nowhere to go except through the large, grey door in front of you. Taking a deep breath, you reached out and turned the handle, the warm evening air hitting your face as you stepped out onto the roof of the Sanctuary.

There were three tall, abandoned smokestacks jutting out of the middle of the building, and they cast long shadows over you in the early evening sunlight. Since there wasn't anyone on this half of the roof, you guessed Negan was on the opposite side of the large cylinders. At least, you hoped he was, and that you hadn't been mistaken in coming up here.

Heading to the left of the stacks, you walked around the corner...and stopped dead at the sight in front of you.

There was a large, emerald green rug set up near the edge of the roof, and in the middle of it was a small dining table and two chairs. The table held the food that Trixie had given to Simon, and there was a lit candle in the middle of the table that was flickering slightly in the breeze. However, you only vaguely noticed the set-up, your gaze sweeping quickly over it before locking onto the man who stood up from the table.

Negan had lost the leather jacket, and his upper half was clad only in a snug, black t-shirt that instantly made your mouth water. He had traded in his usual light grey pants for what appeared to be a pair of charcoal-hued slacks. His hair looked to be freshly slicked back in its usual style, showing off his handsome face. The changes in his attire weren't massive, but they still showed that he had put a little extra effort into this evening. His typical outfit was part of his image, part of the armor he wore. The fact that he had put on an entirely different outfit spoke volumes, and it didn't hurt that he also looked damn good in them. You were relieved to know that you hadn't read too much into his word choice for this occasion, after all.

It appeared that his thoughts were traveling a similar path, as his gaze scanned down over you slowly, before lifting up and focusing on your hair. You swore his eyes had darkened by the time they returned to your own, and you felt a rush of power at the thought that something as simple as a different hairstyle could have such an effect on him.

This man, whom everyone else in the Sanctuary (and other surrounding communities) feared, was dropping his emotional walls and casting aside his tough-guy persona, as he gave you a smile that was sincere and free of malice. His eyes crinkled at the corners in genuine delight at your presence, and it was in that moment that you realized how utterly screwed you were, because your walls were quickly dropping around him, as well.

He moved to pull the second chair away from the table and swept his arm in front of him to beckon you forward. It was a similar gesture to the one which Simon had given you just a couple of minutes ago, but the action was much more charismatic when coming from the man standing before you. Negan's voice finally broke the silence, the deep, husky tone causing a shiver to involuntarily run down your spine.

"Hiya, doll. Care to join me?"


	45. The Date

**Author's Note: I am SO excited and nervous about this chapter, because I wasn't at all expecting it to end up where it did. However, "you" and Negan kinda took over, and I let them do as they wanted, so this is the result.**

 **Also, thank you all so so SO much for being patient. I know that my updates have been hella slow lately, and I appreciate that you still stick with me. I cherish each and every one of your comments/kudos/bookmarks/etc. You are seriously the best group of readers a writer could ever ask for 3**

You stood frozen for a long moment, drinking in the situation, before stepping forward to the offered seat. The table and chairs were a dark wood, like mahogany, and looked expensive. The chair had a soft, emerald green cushion that matched the rug and was incredibly comfortable as you sat down on it, allowing Negan to push you in close to the table.

You could feel his body heat enveloping you, as he leaned down so that the scruff on his chin brushed your cheek. Fighting back a shiver, you felt a gentle tug on a lock of your hair, at the same moment that he whispered in your ear.

"I sure do like it when you let your hair down, doll."

You tried to ignore the chilly feeling of loss when he unwrapped his fingers from your hair and moved away to walk back to his own chair. Making a mental note to give Ben an extra serving of tomorrow night's dessert, as thanks for his suggestion, you tucked away this snippet of intel for the future. It was exhilarating to know that such a simple change in appearance was noticeable and appreciated by the handsome man in front of you.

You watched as Negan unfurled his silverware with long fingers and delicately folded the napkin in his lap. It wasn't until he looked up, cocking an eyebrow in question, that you realized you had just been sitting there staring at him. Ducking your head, you reached for your own silverware and mirrored his movements. He was already twirling some of the alfredo pasta onto his fork, so you followed suit, the two of you munching in companionable silence for a few minutes.

You noticed that while the sun was still bright, it wasn't beating down as hard as earlier, and that within the hour it would start its slow descent, turning the world to night. The thought of being up on this roof with Negan when it got dark caused a strange twisting in your gut. There was something forbidden about being up here, alone with him, that was both terrifying and exciting.

Unwilling to let your mind go in _that_ direction quite yet, you took a drink of water and broke the silence.

"This is really nice."

You immediately wanted to smack yourself. _Nice? It's nice? Good job, way to look like an intelligent human being._ Your brain slapped a palm over its face in embarrassment.

Rather than give a sarcastic response, Negan stopped chewing and looked at you, as if trying to assess if you were being truthful or sarcastic. He swallowed the bite of pasta and cleared his throat.

"I wasn't sure if you'd be the type of woman who appreciated a rooftop dinner."

You almost choked on the mushroom in your mouth at his hesitant words and the way his shoulders visibly relaxed, as he realized that your comment had been sincere. He then gave a lopsided grin that was so genuine it made your heart want to burst, and you realized something very important in that moment.

 _He was nervous._

Negan, the powerful, undefeated leader of the Sanctuary, was nervous. And not because of any life-threatening danger or decision, but simply because he hadn't been sure if you'd appreciate his date idea or not.

Well, that made two of you, then, because you'd been nervous since the second you stepped out onto the roof. It was nice to know that both of you were currently out of your comfort zone with this situation. Especially since it meant that he didn't show such intimate gestures often, if ever.

"Can't say I've ever had someone do this for me before, so I wasn't sure if I'd be that type of woman, either. Turns out that I am."

"Sounds like you were hanging around the wrong fucking douchebags," he commented.

"Does that mean you're the right douchebag?" you threw back with a grin.

His eyes twinkled, and just like that, the nervous energy dissipated, as you both fell back into the banter that had always come so easily between the two of you.

"Wait until the night is over, and then you can let me know," came his retort.

"Oh, I plan on giving you a full Yelp review, when we're done. Can't have anyone else making the mistake of taking the Negan Rooftop Experience if it only warrants a 2-star rating."

He gave a chuckle, and the two of you continued to make small talk while finishing the remaining bites of pasta. Finally, unable to curtail your curiosity any longer, you asked a question that had been on your mind since the start of the meal.

"So-," you waved your pasta-filled fork in an arc to encompass the table, "-what made you decide to go with this, rather than dinner in your room?"

Putting down his own fork and wiping his mouth on the napkin, he took his time in responding. The flicker of the candle reflected in his hazel eyes, his gaze boring into your own as he slowly drawled, "I figured it was more...private."

Heat twisted in your gut. Trying to play it off, you joked, "Well, I definitely don't think anyone will think to come up here looking for us, so brownie points for creativity."

As if to make a liar out of you, at that very moment you heard a voice from behind you say, "Dessert is served!"

Jumping like a startled cat, you dropped your fork on the plate and whipped your head around to see Simon approaching the table with a tray in his hand. So much for private and no interruptions, you thought with a glare at the tall, ever-smiling man who approached the table. He set two plates down on the table, appearing completely oblivious to your less-than-positive reaction to his presence as he swept your pasta plates onto his tray and refilled the water glasses. Then, with a toothy grin and a small bow, he was gone.

Looking down, you gave a slight gasp of delight at the sight of what was on the plate in front of you. It was a piece of chocolate cake, and it looked delicious.

"How did...who made this?" you asked, taking in Negan's pleased grin at your reaction. There hadn't been any dessert on tonight's dinner menu, and there definitely hadn't been chocolate cake on any of the dinner menus for this month. You never had enough cocoa and eggs to make cakes for the entire compound, despite secretly wishing for such a sweet treat on more than one occasion.

"I have my ways," he said with a twinkle in his eyes, watching as you picked up your fork and took a bite. The twinkle darkened when you let out a small, involuntary moan as the fluffy, rich chocolate hit your tongue.

Embarrassed by your reaction, you swallowed and affirmed, "This is really good. Better than good. It's delicious."

You slammed another forkful of cake into your mouth before you rambled even more and made a complete fool out of yourself. Thankfully, Negan let it go, and took a bite of his own slice, nodding in approval as he experienced the decadent taste for himself.

All too soon, the dessert was gone, and it was all you could do not to forego proper manners and scoop up the remaining crumbs with your finger. You noticed that the sun had started setting, the candle flickering brightly in the orange and deep red light that had started to fall over the sanctuary. On cue with your thoughts, Negan stood up from his chair without a word and came around to your side of the table, pulling the chair back so that you could stand, as well. Taking your hand in his large, warm one, he led you over to the edge of the roof.

No words were needed, as it was obvious what his intent had been. The view from this height was breathtaking. You could see the sun had already started to dip below the tree line, casting a beautiful, pink-tinged frosting over the top of the forest. It was so quiet and peaceful, the sight untainted by walkers or humans. There was just the beautiful backdrop of mother nature, as far as the eye could see. It served as a reminder that there were things so much larger in existence than you or Negan or even the apocalypse. That no matter what happened, no matter where the future led, the sun would continue to rise and set.Would continue to try and cleanse the earth with its dying rays each evening, before offering a fresh start and rebirth in the morning, building in intensity until its brightness lit up the world once more.

Giving a contented sigh, you both stood there staring off at the sunset together, his left arm around your waist protectively, while you trailed your right hand up over his broad back and strong shoulders. Stroking the nape of his neck, you felt that his hair was slightly damp with sweat from the humidity of the evening air. Turning, he looked down at you, his face shadowed in the dimming light, making him look more mysterious and almost...dangerous.

Your toes curled, to see so much handsome focused in your direction, to know that you had his full attention in this moment. Unable to resist, you stood up on your toes and placed a soft kiss on his lips.

He smiled against your mouth, then huskily whispered, "I never pegged you to kiss on the first date, doll."

Giving a small huff of a laugh, you curled your hand around the back of his neck, fingers trailing up through the thick, dark hair and pulling his mouth down more firmly against your own. He turned his body into it, the arm around your waist tightening as he pulled you in closer, so that you were pressed along the length of him. You felt sparks of electricity at every point of contact, and wondered if it felt like this for him, as well. Did he feel this undeniable chemistry, the way the air thickened around the two of you? The sense that you couldn't get close enough to him, could never taste him long enough or deep enough? The sharp prick along your arm that signified...wait...sharp prick? What the-

Jerking back from him, you brought your right hand down from his neck and slapped it viciously over your left forearm, squinting in the dark to see if you had gotten the little bastard.

"The hell are you doin'?" Negan asked in confusion.

"I think a mosquito bit me," you replied, still scowling down at your arm for a moment before turning back to the man in front of you. "Sorry, where were we?"

Instead of pulling you closer, Negan stepped back, then took your left hand in his and started leading you away from the edge of the roof.

"What…?"

You watched as his shadowed figure blew out the candle on the table, before he started gently tugging you across the roof, obviously meaning to go back inside. You felt a small flare of panic. You weren't ready for the date to end, weren't ready to go back to reality. You internally cursed, hoping that, if you hadn't already killed the mosquito, it would meet a gruesome demise for effectively ruining the romantic moment.

"We don't have to leave, ya know. It was just a mosquito, not a walker," you tried to reason with him.

"I don't care. Nothing is allowed to fucking bite you except me," he said, causing you to almost stumble. How the hell was he able to growl out what should be a fairly simple sentence, yet make it so that the words literally dripped seduction and sex?

Knowing that there was no sense in arguing once his mind was made up, you allowed him to lead you into the metal staircase and down to the fourth floor, back to his rooms. He unlocked the door with a key from his back pocket, and the two of you walked inside. He lifted up your hand, his eyes scanning over your arm, obviously looking for any signs of the bite. His concern was touching, although you were glad that there wasn't currently any visible bump or red mark, otherwise he'd probably be over reacting and calling for Dr. Carson.

Satisfied, he released your hand, and the two of you looked at each other in silence. The nervous energy that you thought had been left behind on the roof suddenly returned, as you both seemed unsure what to do or say next.

"If you're tired, I can escort you back to your room," he offered.

In the past, you'd have thought this was a hint that he wanted rid of you, but now, you knew that wasn't the case. He was offering you an out, an opportunity to leave before things got too cozy or too intimate. The Negan of a month ago probably would've tried to take advantage of this situation by attempting to get in your pants. Hell, the Negan of a month ago wouldn't have given a flying fuck if a dozen mosquitos were biting you, if it meant he had you pressed against him and willing to be seduced.

But the current Negan _did_ give a fuck. More than that, he had set up this entire date without any expectations about where the night would end. In fact, he seemed entirely convinced that nothing more than that rooftop kiss was going to happen, and was willing to let you decide whether or not the date was over.

The fact that he wasn't trying to make the situation into more, wasn't trying to cross any of your boundaries, actually made you _want_ to stay here with him. You almost snorted at the thought. It was a good thing he didn't realize that the way to make you desire him even more was, apparently, for him to stop pushing so hard and _not_ showcase how much he wanted to sleep with you.

"I'm not tired, yet," you responded with a small smile. "Besides, I never did get to borrow another book."

His dimples appeared as he caught his tongue between his sharp, white teeth. "I thought gifting you with your own books was supposed to keep your grubby little hands off of mine."

You laughed and shook your head. "Nope. When it comes to your books, I'm never satisfied."

You knew exactly what you were saying, and meant for it to come off as flirtatious, although you turned your attention to a nearby bookcase, feigning innocence. As you scanned the titles on the shelf, you noticed the chessboard, which was still propped up on the floor against the side of the bookshelf. It didn't appear to have been moved since the last time you and Negan had played. Looking at the polished wooden board folded in half brought back memories of that afternoon, and of the words he had spoken during the game.

Knowing that he was watching you, all you gave was a slight nod in the direction of the board, before saying, "I can't help but wonder about something."

"What's that, doll?" came the deep rumble behind you.

"It was something you said during our chess game, about the king." You hesitated, both worried that he wouldn't remember the metaphor, and also worried that he _would_ remember and get scared him off. Turning around to face him, you watched his expression and continued. "You told me that the reason why the king is the most important piece, is because you have to be skilled enough to capture him, in order to win the game."

His eyes didn't give even a glimmer of his thoughts, as if he were carefully shielding his emotions until he knew where you were going with this.

"I was just wondering...how's the queen faring in that task? Is she making any progress, or does she still have most of the board to clear? How many more opponents does she have to take out, before she gets the king all to herself?

Negan stepped forward, until your bodies were almost touching. Reaching up, he stroked the back of one finger down your cheek, his gaze turning soft and warm, as he replied.

"I'd say all other opponents have been dealt with, doll."

Letting out the nervous breath that you had been holding, you looked up at him hopefully, and asked, "What about the king's queens?"

You purposely made the word plural, in a reference to his wives, and could tell by the flare in his eyes that he instantly understood the metaphor.

"You're mistaken," he said.

Feeling your heart drop, you broke his gaze and looked down, prepared for him to make a comment about how those queens wouldn't go away, how they weren't to be compared in this metaphor. You had obviously crossed a line, and should know 'til now that you would never truly have him all to yourself. You started pulling your emotional walls back up, in a vain effort to protect yourself from his next words.

"They're not queens...they never were."

Confused, you looked back up at him, and echoed, "They're not?"

The corners of his lips lifted into a soft smile, as he curled a lock of your hair around his index finger, concentrating on the silky strands rather than looking you in the eye. He inhaled deeply, bracing himself, and you waited patiently, sensing that this admission wasn't an easy one for him.

"You're the only queen that's ever been on the board, doll," he breathed.

His eyes flickered onto your own, as if unsure what he would find there. Even now, after all his admissions and displays of affection, he was still hesitant. You realized that there was a part of him that fully expected you to turn him away, to take this delicate information and use it against him. He might be one of the most intimidating and powerful men that you had ever met, but in this moment, he was allowing himself to be vulnerable. And, suddenly, you wanted to showcase your own vulnerability, to take that step with him.

This hadn't been at all what you were expecting or planning to happen tonight, but much as you tried to control and analyze everything, sometimes you just had to go with instinct. Since you didn't currently have the words to express what you were feeling, you wanted to show him, instead. And, despite all your previous misgivings, in this moment…right here and right now…it felt right.

Decision made, you reached out and gently took his hand. This time, it was you who led the way, walking across his office and towards the open doorway. You felt a slight resistance as you reached the threshold to the bedroom, and looked back to see his brows furrowed in confusion.

"Where are we goin', doll?"

You gave a seductive smile, and simply replied, "I think it's time we finally broke in that big bed of yours."

And, with that, you moved forward again, both of you crossing silently into the darkened bedroom. Your brain hung a 'do not disturb' sign on the door, giving you and Negan total privacy, as both it and your subconscious walked away with twin smiles and a joyous high five.


	46. Slow Burn

**Author's Note:** **It's FINALLY here. Almost two years of writing this story, and we finally get some smut between these two! I was SO nervous to write this chapter, and don't wanna even say how much I over analyzed ever single sentence. However, I'm thrilled with the final product, and hope y'all are, as well. I wanted to combine the fluffy feels with the sexiness, and make "you" almost seem in charge of the situation, at least emotionally, while still having Negan retain his status as the sex god that we all know he is. Hopefully that all comes across in this chapter. So, without further ado…enjoy ;)**

The bedroom was dark, with the stars glistening faintly through the large, uncurtained windows. Before you could worry about stubbing your toe on the bed or tripping and ruining the moment, you felt Negan tug you gently to the side and reach for something. With a click, the standing lamp near the door turned on, giving off just enough light to form a muted glow around the room.

You looked up at Negan, the planes of his left cheek thrown into the light, his eyes dark, yet soft, as he gazed back at you, awaiting your next move. Suddenly nervous, you tried to act confident, but were certain your voice came out a bit uncertain.

"I think this is the part where you start kissing me."

A grin broke across Negan's face, and he wrapped his free arm around your waist, pulling you in close to his body, his other hand still holding your own.

"I think I can do that, doll," he murmured, the last words spoken against your mouth as he pressed his lips into yours.

The kiss was slow, and fairly PG. It was as if you were learning each other's mouths all over again…as if it were the first time. Which was actually a bit amusing, seeing as how your first kiss with him had been like an instant blaze of fire followed by a cold rush of reality. But this...this was a slow burn. One that gradually built in your gut, the embers warming you from the inside out. It felt like forever before he traced your lips with his tongue, prompting you to open your mouth and allow him to deepen the kiss. And, even then, the pace was lazy and unhurried, like you had all the time in the world.

Eventually, you drew back slightly, trying to catch your breath. Giving a huffed laugh against his mouth, you whispered, "I really hope no one interrupts this time."

Negan pulled his head back, staring down at you with his no-nonsense, serious face in place. "Doll, I will fucking rip someone's head off if they try to come in here right now."

Your lips twitched in mirth at his words. Truth be told, you felt the same way, and pitied any poor soul who might make such a grave mistake. Tonight, you wanted Negan to yourself, and no one was going to keep that from happening.

You had to admit, this wasn't how you had originally planned for your first time with him to happen. And you'd be lying if you said you _hadn't_ thought about how it would happen. Extensively.

However, in your head, you had envisioned making this decision ahead of time and preparing for it, both mentally and physically. You would've made sure to shave the same day, would've put a condom in your bra, and... _oh shit...shit…condoms!_

Negan had been bending his head, intent on kissing you again, but you took a small step back and put up a hand in nonverbal warning for him to pause. His brows furrowed, and before he could even ask, you blurted, "Please tell me you have condoms in here somewhere?"

The lines of worry eased from his forehead as comprehension dawned. Turning without a word, he dropped his arm from your waist and untangled his fingers from yours, before walking across the room to his armoire. He opened one of the drawers and rooted around, before pulling out a square packet. His eyebrows waggled suggestively, as he teased, "Course I got condoms, doll. What kinda man do you think I am?"

You smiled in relief and nodded, before laughing softly when he considered for a moment before reaching back in the drawer and pulling out a few more packets.

"Actually, just to be on the safe side…" he joked, walking back towards you and putting the handful of condoms on the end table beside the bed.

The burn in your stomach intensified at the unspoken message given by him grabbing extras. This was most certainly not going to be a one-time event, and your toes practically curled at the thought. And, when Negan pulled you back in close and recaptured your lips with his own, you felt the intensity level go up a notch.

The kiss was still soft, still unhurried, but with an edge of need and passion that made you shiver. He threaded his fingers softly through your hair, tucking it behind your ear before cupping the side of your neck with one warm hand. You were surprised to discover that Negan was such a sensualist, and willing to take his time, when you had expected him to be in a bit more in a rush after the last month of dancing around one another. Instead, he kissed you thoroughly, until you were clutching at his arms for balance. Only then did he free your mouth, in order to explore the rest of you, taking the time to learn each and every feature of your face.

He ran his lips up the slope of your nose and traced across your brow bone, before trailing feather-light kisses down over your temple and cheek, ending at your chin. A quick peck to your lips started the process all over again, this time with him exploring the other half of your face. When he got back down to your chin, he nosed at it gently, a silent command for you to tilt your head back and give him access to your throat.

You complied without hesitation, tilting your face towards the ceiling with a sigh. His soft lips and rough beard caused goosebumps to form, and you couldn't repress the tiny shiver that shook your frame when he found a particularly sensitive spot where the curve of your neck met your shoulder. Instead of continuing downwards, he moved back up along the side of your throat towards your ear, licking along the shell before taking the lobe between his teeth and giving a playful nip. He then took an unexpected step back from you, his hands slipping from your body as his voice broke the silence with a husky rasp.

"I think this is the part where you start stripping for me, doll."

He tried to make the words playful, but the edge of desire made his voice come out rough and low. You stared at him dumbly for a moment, before his words sank in, and you realized he was playing off your command from earlier. From the smirk on his face, you could tell that he had enjoyed throwing you off balance. He was probably also enjoying the sight of you right now, with lips swollen from his kisses and eyes glazed with desire in anticipation of what was to come.

However, you also wondered if the words were his way of making sure you were fully invested in going through with this decision. In the past, he had said he wouldn't take you until you begged him for it, and if the heat between your thighs just from his mouth on your neck was any indication, there was a good chance begging would be part of the equation, before the night was through.

However, you weren't willing to completely acquiesce quite yet. You still had some functioning brain cells left, and, thankfully, a few of those cells were in charge of the sarcastic, teasing side of you. And that side wanted to lighten the mood a bit, both to give you a chance to catch your breath and allow you to take back a bit of control in the situation. Negan might think stripping signaled submission, but he should know things were never that simple, where you were concerned.

Blinking owlishly at him for a few seconds, you played up the hesitant, shy card by dropping your gaze to the floor and tracing one foot along the soft rug in front of you. Lowering your arm, you reached down...and down….and started unbuckling the watch from around your wrist. Once it was off, you dangled it from your fingertips, looking up at him with a seductively arched brow and saucy smile, before reaching over and setting it down on the bedside table. Turning back to him, you quipped, "Your turn."

Surprise flitted across Negan's features, followed by him tucking his tongue into the side of his cheek in mirth, as he realized the rules had been flipped. A dark chuckle came from his throat, and the promise behind it was like a caress down your spine.

Continuing the game, Negan reached down, and you almost had a mini stroke when his hands went for his pants, before realizing his intent. He unbuckled his leather belt, before ever so slowly pulling it out of the belt loops, his smirking gaze never leaving your face. Once the leather was free, he dropped it to the floor, then nodded his head at you in a nonverbal gesture of 'your turn'.

You could feel the slight trembling of excitement in your arms, as you contemplated your next move. Technically, you could draw this game out for a while, by going for your socks, then shoes. But, you were already breathing heavily just from him taking off a god damn belt, and if you didn't up the pace a bit, it was quite possible that you'd start hyperventilating before either one of you was done taking off your accessories.

Making a decision, you reached down again, while Negan watched with interest. He probably figured that you were going for your shoes, since you started to bend over and lifted one foot a bit off the ground, fingering the laces of your sneaker for a second...before abruptly straightening back up and lifting your shirt over your head in one smooth movement. You were grateful that your hair was down, because the shirt probably would've gotten stuck on the bun and totally ruined the effect. However, your execution was flawless, and Negan's reaction was more than worth the bold move.

He had gone still as a statue, frozen except for his eyes, and they instantly dropped down to focus on your torso, which was bare except for a plain white bra. It wasn't the fancy lingerie he was probably used to, but he didn't seem to mind, his gaze seeming to take in every inch of your curves in the dimmed light. His eyes darkened, pupils dilating so that only a thin amber ring was visible, and a muscle started ticking at the side of his jaw. A slight movement made you look down, just in time to see his hands clench and unclench at his sides.

Much as he obviously wanted to reach out and touch you, he instead kept up with the game by copying you, and took off his own snug, black t-shirt. You swayed slightly on your feet as the roles switched, and now you were the one greedily eyeballing his own naked torso, taking in the expanse of tan flesh that had just the right amount of salt and pepper hair covering his chest and leading downwards to disappear in the waistband of his pants. His tattoos were a bit fuzzy in the lamplight, which was a shame. You wanted to explore all of them, wanted to trace the outlines with your tongue and learn the story behind each one. _Later_ , you thought, filing away the idea. Right now, you were too focused on the fact that he was stripping to even move.

He had kicked off his shoes and bent down to pull off his dark socks, leaving him barefoot and clad only in his pants...and whatever might or might not be under them. You realized that he had quickly surpassed you in the removal of clothing, and that it was your turn to play catch up.

Bending over, you went through with untying your sneakers this time, hiding a smirk behind the curtain of your hair when you heard him draw in a sharp breath. Most likely, he was getting a grade-A view of your cleavage, since being bent over meant gravity was pushing them to almost overflowing against the cups of your bra.

When your shoes and socks were gone, you straightened and started unbuttoning your jeans. You watched Negan's face, his gaze focused on your fingers as they lowered the metal zipper and pushed the clinging fabric down over your thighs and calves. Kicking them off, you nudged the denim to the side with your foot, now clad only in a white bra and mismatched pair of lavender panties. You were both nervous and curious to see how he would react, and almost moaned when he slowly licked his lower lip and took a deep breath, letting it out in a low whistle. Before any doubt or insecurities could take hold, Negan made his move, stepping forward suddenly and pulling your body into his.

And, just like that, the game was over.

You hummed with pleasure when his warm, muscular chest collided with your soft curves. His body was emanating heat like a bonfire, and you were willingly being drawn into the flames. He captured your mouth with a growl, and you wrapped your arms up around his shoulders, pressing as close to him as physically possible. You whimpered at the feel of the hard bulge pressing into your stomach through his slacks, evidence of how much he wanted you. He ran his hands down over your waist and hips, and you gasped into his mouth when they cupped your ass and rubbed you against his erection.

Just when you were in real danger of your legs giving out from under you, he leaned down, one arm sweeping you off your feet at the knees, while the other supported your back. He straightened with you in his arms and walked over to the side of the bed. The random thought hit that this was a similar situation to the last time you had been in his bedroom, when he carried you back from the forest. Except, this time, you were conscious and fully aware of what was happening.

He must've caught the smile that tipped your lips at the thought, because he asked, "Something amusing, doll?"

Grinning up at him, you replied, "I was just thinking how you don't have to worry about peeling me out of my jeans this time."

He gave a huffed laugh as he jerked down the crimson top sheet with one hand before laying you down on your back on the bed, the fabric cool against your overheated flesh. He followed you down, stretching out on his side beside you, his eyes running along the length of your body, before he warned, "You better stay the fuck awake this time. I don't want you to miss any part of what I'm about to do."

Heat pulsed between your thighs at his words, and you tugged on his shoulders so that he leaned down and kissed you. The fact that you were breaking two of his cardinal rules, one by kissing him and two by doing so in his bed, caused both a tingling thrill and a fuzzy warmth in your chest. Feeling bold, you finally did something you had imagined more times than you were willing to admit, and started exploring his body with your hands. You traced the lines of his collarbone, palmed the planes of his pecs, and ran fingers through the soft hair that decorated his chest. He jerked slightly when your fingers brushed across his right nipple, so you did it again, grinning at your effect on him, before moving down his stomach and over the front of his pants to cup his erection in your palm. You pouted when he grabbed your wrist and pulled it away with a groan, before pinning it beside your head on the mattress.

"Keep that up, and this is going to be over way too fucking soon," he purred.

You were about to make a comment about how you wouldn't mind upping the pace a bit, when he effectively shut you up by leaning down to kiss your neck at the same moment that his other hand cupped your breast. Even the sensation of it through the bra caused your back to arch up into him, and your head fell to the side to give him unrestricted access to your throat. He had quickly learned, from your first encounter, what his mouth there did to you, and he zeroed in on the most sensitive spot, nipping with his teeth and making you moan. His hands left your breast and unpinned your wrist, in order to slide around your back. The sudden loosening of the cups alerted you that he had unhooked your bra, and you felt the cool air of the bedroom hit your bare chest as he pulled it down your arms. He threw it off the side of the bed, shifting so that his upper body was hovering over your own, and you shuddered when taking a deep breath caused the hair on his chest to brush your nipples.

You couldn't believe this was finally happening. After the past few weeks of futilely trying to resist his charm and not develop feelings for this sexy, yet dangerous, man...you had still ended up here, vulnerable and quickly falling head over heels. You had a feeling that, no matter what you had said or done, this current situation had been inevitable. That, from that first moment out in the woods, all paths would've led to right here and right now. You wanted to panic at the thought, but over analyzing the situation was abruptly thrown out the window when his mouth covered your left nipple.

Moaning at the wet heat of his tongue circling the hardened nub, you reached up and threaded fingers through his hair and held his head to your chest. He teased and nipped all around your breast, laving each inch with his tongue, before sucking on your nipple until you gave a soft cry and whimpered his name.

Switching to your right breast, he repeated his ministrations until you were a writhing mess beneath him. He had moved his hips over yours, and you subconsciously wrapped your thighs around his hips, pressing up into him and trying to find relief from the throbbing ache in your core.

"Easy, doll," he whispered against your breast. "We've got all night."

If you had been able to speak in more than wordless whimpers, you would've given some sassy retort. However, your focus was instantly redirected to the feel of warm fingers trailing up your inner thigh. They moved slowly, so slowly that you wanted to strangle him as much as you wanted to beg him to never stop. They reached the crease of your thigh, fingering teasingly at the seam of your panties.

His mouth moved back up your chest, and he sucked on your throat, creating what would surely turn into a mark later, before whispering huskily, "Do you have any fucking idea how much I've wanted to do this? How many times I've imagined fucking you until you couldn't remember anything except how to scream my name? How frustrating it's been, that the closest I've gotten to your pussy was through my glove out in the woods, when I couldn't even feel the wetness that I knew was there."

"Oh god, Negan," you gasped, his words sending you up in flames, while his fingers still playing with the edge of your underwear were quickly driving you out of your mind with anticipation.

"What is it, doll. What do you want?" he whispered, his breath hot against your ear and sending shivers down your spine.

You had a moment of embarrassment at having to voice the suggestion, but it was quickly overpowered by the promise of him fulfilling your request. "Your fingers...please, I need you to touch me."

It wasn't the most explicit of demands, but it was enough, and you gave a moan of relief when he finally slipped his fingers beneath the panties. He traced up and down along your slit, before parting your lips and slowly pushing one thick finger inside of you. He gave a low groan at the same time that your nails dug into his shoulders and you threw your head back against the pillow with a gasp.

"Jesus fuck, doll! You're so fucking wet."

You couldn't respond, eyes closed in ecstasy at the pleasure of finally having something inside you that wasn't your own fingers. Of having _him_ inside you.

He moved in and out a few times, before adding a second finger, and you almost arched right off the mattress. He set up a steady rhythm, finger fucking you slowly and capturing your lips in a kiss. His tongue penetrated your mouth in a similar fashion to how his fingers were penetrating you down below, and you were so wet that the room quickly filled with the wet, sloppy sounds of his movements. You barely registered them, instead totally focused on the man above you and the way he was masterfully playing your body. He used his thumb to press circles on your clit, and you whined into his mouth, lifting your hips into his hand as the pressure between your thighs quickly built to an almost uncomfortable level.

It didn't take long for your orgasm to hit. It was as if all the tension that had built up over the past weeks had finally gotten a chance to release. Gasping and moaning against his lips, your body clenched around his fingers, as the waves of pleasure coursed through you and sent you soaring.

You had barely come down from the high when he gently removed his fingers, and the pressure of his body lifted away from the bed. Opening glazed eyes and raising your head off the pillow, you saw that he was standing at the foot the bed, hands working at the button and zipper of his pants.

While the orgasm had helped take the urgent edge off your need, it seemed to have done the opposite for him. His eyes were practically glowing with desire as he pushed the material down his legs without hesitation, leaving him clad in black boxer briefs. Despite your recent orgasm, you felt a spark of desire burn in your stomach at the impressive bulge that was straining beneath the fabric.

You were both silent and still, staring at one another heatedly. It took a long moment before you realized that he was waiting for you to make a move. That, even after what had already transpired, he was checking to make sure you wanted to continue. Rather than try to use words, you simply reached down and hooked your thumbs under the sides of your drenched panties. Pulling your legs up to your chest, you pulled the fabric down over desire-soaked inner thighs and trembling knees, before flinging them over the side of the bed. Leaning back on your elbows, you looked up at Negan without a stitch of clothing to hide you from his gaze.

The apocalypse had given you a newfound appreciation for your body, for how it helped you to survive. It had traveled miles on foot, hid in small spaces from walkers, and been worked to the bone by fear and exhaustion. And yet, it had kept you alive. You hadn't overly analyzed your naked body in a sexual way, or worried about its appearance, in a long time. At least, not in the ways that were so common before the world had gone to hell. Back then, the size of one's waist or the fullness of one's hips was actually considered an important societal factor when engaging in everyday life. In this new world, none of that mattered. And, in a fucked-up way, surviving an apocalypse had given you a level of body-confidence that no amount of self-help books or yoga classes ever could've.

But now, laid bare before him, you felt a niggling sense of insecurity. Not so much in regards to whether your stomach was flat enough, your breasts firm enough, or your legs long and shapely enough. You were beyond shallow worries such as those. At this point, if he was going to turn you away based on a particular body part, then you had been gravely mistaken, and didn't know the man in front of you, after all.

No, the insecurity was about his acceptance of what your nudity meant. This was you, shedding your last wall of defense, willingly stepping into a new depth of intimacy that you had sworn never to give someone else...not when survival had become your top and only priority these last few years.

Now, you were making him a top priority, as well. The question was, did he want to accept this offer? Did he realize how vulnerable you were, and if so, was he willing to take that last step with you? It wasn't a declaration of love, but...it was close. Meeting his gaze, you could tell that the importance of the moment wasn't lost on him. There was more conveyed in that eye contact than either one of you would be comfortable admitting in words, at least at this point.

Unable to stand his silent stillness any longer, you cleared your throat and, in a voice that trembled and negated your attempt at acting cool and collected, you said, "Checkmate. Your move."

The smallest flash of a grin lifted his lips, before disappearing under the heat of his desire, and he held your gaze as he hooked fingers in the briefs and pushed them down his thighs. Your eyes dropped instantly, and you took in the full glory that was a naked Negan.

You stared in frozen silence, feeling a sense of awe that was partially due to the fact that it had been so long since you had even seen a naked man up close, at least in a sexual way. The other part was due to the fact that it was _Negan_ who was naked in front of you. And, of course, like every other aspect of him, even this commanded your attention.

His thighs were long and lean with muscle, covered in a dusting of masculine dark hair. They framed a patch of even thicker hair, below which rested what was, honestly, a pretty impressive cock. He was long and thick, not to the point of being intimidating, but enough that you were certain it would take a bit of patience, and more than a bit of accommodation, for your body to take all of him in. Just the thought sent a pleasurable shiver down your spine. He saw your reaction, and the light from the nearby lamp glinted off his white teeth as he grinned at you.

Not wanting to stay compliant any longer, you reached over to the nearby end table and grabbed one of the condoms, before moving down to the edge of the bed and resting on your knees in front of him. Catching his gaze, you stared at him while licking a wet trail down the center of your hand. You then reached out and wrapped the hand around him, eliciting a strangled moan that made you grin. The skin of his shaft was surprisingly soft, especially in contrast to the hardness that was underneath. Pumping your hand down his length experimentally, you got a thrill when he automatically thrust his hips forward into your hand, seeking more contact. Unable to help your curiosity, you moved downward to cup his heavy sack, giving it a gentle squeeze. Apparently, that was Negan's limit, because he gave a particularly needy sound, one that could almost be classified as a whimper, as he grabbed your hand and pulled it away from his body.

He plucked the condom out of your other hand, and when you tried to reach for him again, he placed a hand in the center of your chest and pushed, so that you fell onto your back on the bed. Relenting, you scooted up so that you were reclining on your elbows in the middle of the bed, and slowly spread your legs. His eyes were immediately drawn to the wetness glistening between your thighs, and you were satisfied to see that his hands were trembling slightly as he tore open the foil packet and rolled on the condom.

You couldn't contain an excited gasp when he crawled up over you, spreading his body out on top of yours and letting his weight dip down onto his elbows, so that your bodies were pressed together. He kissed you deeply, his erection hot against your inner thigh. This was so much better than any fantasy you could've conjured, with the feel of his hard chest pressed against your breasts, the musky smell of his sweat-slickened skin all around you, and the sound of his heavy breathing puffing against your lips.

He shifted, reaching one hand down between your bodies, and you felt his cock at your entrance. Panting with anticipation, you ran your hands down his sides and dug your fingers into his ass, trying to pull him forward and into you.

"Please, Negan," you begged, wanting more than anything to feel him inside of you.

He smirked against your mouth at the needy words, and you bit his lower lip gently in retaliation. How the hell he managed to still have any control at this point was beyond you.

"Negan, I swear to God, if you don't-" you broke off with a cry when he started to enter you. He was slow and gentle, but you still felt overwhelmed. Throwing your head back against the pillow, your mouth dropped open at the sensation of his large cock. You couldn't even make a sound, your entire body focused on the tight stretch as he worked his way inside.

You felt possessed by his fullness, unable to imagine how you had ever gone so long without having him as a part of you...how you had ever gone so long without feeling this complete. When he finally bottomed out inside of you, he stilled, causing you to open your eyes and look up at him. Apparently, you weren't the only one feeling overwhelmed, as shown by his closed eyes and clenched jaw. Sweat was dripping down over his face and chest as he fought to maintain control, but that wasn't what you wanted. You wanted him as out of control and free falling as you were. Lifting up towards him, you licked one of the salty droplets that was making its way down the front of his throat, before sucking on the tan flesh until he gave an involuntary shudder and moan.

"Fuck...fucking hell!" he growled, opening his eyes and gazing down at you, his expression absolutely wrecked.

Running your hands back up his body, you cradled his face in your palms, bringing it down to your own and pouring all your emotions into the kiss.

His control finally seemed to float away, as he kissed you with a deep growl, and drew back his hips. You whimpered and wrapped your legs around his waist, not wanting him to leave your body. When he thrust back in, a little less gently than the first time, you gave a whispered, "Yes, harder, please."

Groaning, as if in relief at your request, he started moving faster, thrusting sharply against you, and you clung to him as the friction of his hard length against your sensitive walls caused you to see stars.

"Fuck," he hissed. "You feel so fucking good. So hot. So wet."

You could only moan as he kept up the deep rhythm, the sensations building until you were crying out with every thrust. His head dropped down so that he was grunting into the curve of your throat, his rough beard against your oversensitized flesh making you tremble and gasp out his name.

Digging your nails into his strong biceps, you could feel the way the muscles flexed under your hands. Your skin was sticky where it was pressed against his, your chest and stomach damp with your combined sweat. Each thrust of his hips was stoking the flames within you, until it felt as though you were both engulfed in an inferno of pleasure.

His upper body was still, only his hips moving against you, and it was both erotic and romantic at the same time. It was if neither one of you could get close enough to the other, as if you were trying to combine your bodies into one. You had never felt more connected to a man, physically or emotionally, as you did in this moment. That realization should've terrified you, but instead it made you feel euphoric, and added to the building pleasure.

He moaned against you, his hips jerking a bit off rhythm, and you could tell that he was getting close. Not wanting to leave you behind, he nipped at the sensitive spot on your neck at the same time that he reached down between your bodies and found your clit. You cried out at the added sensation, his fingers working in tight, fast circles that quickly took you near the peak of orgasm. Lifting his head, he gazed down at you, his lust-drunk eyes burning into yours.

"Come for me, doll. I want to feel it," he growled.

His words were the final push you needed, as your orgasm rolled through you, the molten pleasure pulsing across your flesh and through your veins. He captured your lips, tasting your cries as he continued to fuck you through your orgasm. Your body shuddered beneath him as you pulsed around his cock, causing him to release his own cry into your mouth, as he stiffened above you when his own orgasm hit.

Your bodies both seemed to collapse limply into each other, and you welcomed the heavy weight of his body on your own. Panting hard against his sweaty shoulder, you marveled at this feeling of complete release, your body feeling boneless and giving little residual tremors of pleasure. After a long moment of stillness, where the only sound in the room was the combined puffs of heaving breathing, Negan pulled his hips back. You let out an involuntary whine as his cock slipped from your body, and he rolled off to his side before sitting up and reaching down to dispose of the condom.

Before you could even worry about what to do next, Negan stretched back out on the bed, grabbing you by the waist and rolling onto his back, so that you were suddenly splayed across his chest, your legs tangled between his own. He fumbled his feet around until he was able to catch the top sheet on his toes and jerk it upwards, using his hand to pull it the rest of the way up over your sweat-cooled bodies. His hand stroked your hair and down along your back for long moments before it stilled, and you both lay there in silence.

No words were needed as you snuggled into him with a sigh, his arms wrapped loosely around your waist and your head pillowed on his warm chest, as his steady breathing lulled you to sleep.


	47. Afterglow

**Author's Note: I know, I KNOW! Two updates in the same month! I was shocked, as well! I've had the idea for this chapter (and the next chapter) in my head ever since a certain cooking scene happened on the show. And I knew I wanted it to happen after they first slept together, so I'm thrilled that we've finally gotten to that point. This chapter is pretty short and more a transition/fluff chapter, but there will be some…ahem…fun content in the next chapter. Until then, enjoy!**

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You woke up an indefinable amount of time later, snuggling closer to the furnace that was in front of you. _Furnace?_ Your sleep-fogged brain struggled to comprehend why you were pressed up against something so warm, and why the mattress felt softer than usual…

 _Negan._

It was as if your brain finally snapped to attention, and you instantly remembered where you were...and what had happened. You froze so hard that you even held your breath, eyes cracking open slowly. Except for the glow from the still-on lamp by the door, the room was hazy with darkness, signaling that it was probably the middle of the night. You remembered falling asleep on top of Negan, but must've rolled off him at some point, since you were now on the mattress, both of you on your sides and facing one another.

Your naked bodies were pressed together, legs entwined and one of his arms thrown over your waist, as if to keep you from leaving. His face was lying on the pillow right in front of yours, the warm puffs of his breath rustling the little tendrils of hair on your cheek. You drank in as many details as you could in the dimmed room, his features softer and more relaxed in sleep, shaving years off and making him look impossibly young. He was so handsome that you had to resist the urge to reach out and trace down along his strong nose and across his soft lips.

You remembered what those lips had done, as well as what they had said, and your toes curled against his hairy calf. You had already guessed that Negan would be good in bed, but god damn, you hadn't expected _that_. He had taken any and all previous fantasies and blown them right out of the water, your own hands and active imagination providing no competition for the reality of the man stretched out in front of you.

The real question was, where did you go from here? What did this new development mean for your relationship with him, and for his relationship with his wives? Hell, what did it mean for the entire structure of the Sanctuary, if the community found out that their previously emotionless leader was growing soft towards the woman who ran the kitchen?

Doubt started to creep in. _You're assuming this even meant anything to him. Maybe he'll be done with you, now that the chase is over._ _He'd never put his all-powerful persona in jeopardy, no matter how great the sex._

You mentally swatted that train of thought away as if it were a pesky fly. No, tonight hadn't meant nothing to him. He had been with you every step of the way, and you refused to believe that he didn't care about you in the same way that you cared about him. Course, that didn't make you any less nervous about how to handle the situation once the sex was over. Should you try and sneak out now, to avoid any awkward conversations when he awoke? You had already broken so many of his rules, so maybe you shouldn't push things any further, by staying until morning.

It was as you were lying there, watching Negan sleep and debating whether or not to try and pull away and go back to your room, that he shifted on the bed and slowly opened his eyes. Your own eyes widened in surprise, and you were thankful for the darkened room, certain that a blush was creeping over your face at having been caught watching him.

The smallest grin curled the edges of his mouth, and his sleep-husked voice broke the silence. "You're staring, doll."

"I…I was not! I was just...I…" you stammered, trying to save face, but also incredibly distracted by the utter sex appeal that was a sleep-tousled Negan. Dear lord, did the man ever look unattractive? You were pretty sure you already knew the answer to that.

"It's alright, doll, I don't mind. So long as you were staring because I'm so fucking sexy that you couldn't resist, and not because you were planning out how to knife me while I'm unconscious."

You gasped in affront, mostly at the accuracy of the first half of his statement. "I would never knife you!"

He gave a chuckle and tightened the arm around your waist, pressing you in closer against his body and making you suddenly aware of a certain, rapidly hardening part of him that was pressed into your thigh.

"So, you _were_ watching me sleep," he joked.

You gave a dramatic huff, before letting a smile slip through your serious facade. "Okay, maybe I was. But only a little." You ran a hand up the center of his chest, threading your fingers through the surprisingly soft mat of salt-sprinkled dark hair. "You gotta problem with that?"

"Fuck no, doll. You can creeper stare at me all you want," he joked.

Before you could sass back at him, he moved his head forward and sealed his mouth to yours. Any worries about morning breath flew out the window at his low hum of pleasure and the way he pressed his hips tighter against you. The hand at your waist trailed calloused fingers down over your hip and the outer curve of your thigh.

"Fuck," he moaned, dipping his head down to your throat, the rough scratch of his beard stoking the flames in your gut. "How the hell is your skin so soft?"

Without thinking, you answered him with a gasp, "Coconut oil."

He froze, lifting his head from your nape to look at you with a puzzled expression. "The fuck did you just say?"

Mortified, but seeing no reason to backtrack now, you repeated, "Coconut oil. I...uh... _borrow_ jars from the kitchen to use as lotion."

He blinked dumbly at you for a long, silent moment, before saying, "Doll, did you just admit to stealing fucking kitchen supplies?"

Giving him a wide-toothed, 'please don't be mad at me' grin, you sing-songed, "Maaaybe? Would you rather I stop and have dry, scaly skin to rub all over you?"

"That depends. You stealin' anything else?" He was trying to act authoritative, but the effect was ruined by his sleep-tousled hair and the flecks of mirth dancing in his eyes.

"Nope, not unless an extra serving of dessert here and there counts."

He gave an exasperated eye roll and murmured something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like 'disrespectful woman' before resuming where he had left off with his mouth on your throat. Kissing his way over your collarbone and across your shoulder, he ran his hands up and down your body, touching everywhere but the places you needed him most.

You were just about to voice your frustration at his lack of attention to particular areas, when a low gurgle came from where your bodies were pressed together. Trying to ignore it, you ran your hands over his chest, before pulling his mouth to yours and kissing him until you were both breathless.

And then the gurgle happened again. This time, it was much louder, and accompanied by an unmistakable pang of hunger in your stomach. You couldn't help but laugh lightly against his mouth at the unsexy noise.

"Sounds like someone's hungry," Negan murmured, running a warm hand down between your bodies to cup your belly.

Swatting his hand away, you said, "I don't know why. It's not like we didn't have a full meal earlier, and I'm never hungry before morning."

He gave you his signature, cocky grin in response. "Yea, but you've never had me to wear you the fuck out before morning, either."

You lifted a skeptical eyebrow, even though, to be honest, he wasn't wrong. "Who says you wore me out?"

His eyes darkened at the challenge, but before he could reply, your stomach let out what would be more classified as a low rumble than a gurgle, as if it were steadily getting more pissed off at its lack of nourishment.

Letting go of you with a sigh, Negan rolled over onto his other side and sat up on the edge of the bed. Confused, you also sat up, and asked, "Where are you going?"

He stood, in all his naked glory, and walked around the bed to pick his clothes up off the floor. You were so distracted by the sight of his bare body moving about the room, complete with semi-hard cock and a tight little ass that you wanted to sink your teeth into, that you barely registered when he gathered up your t-shirt and tossed it, so that it landed on the bed near your hip.

" _We_ are going to fix your little problem, since the kitchen should be unoccupied for a few more hours."

Still slightly confused, you pulled the shirt over your head, not bothering to try and find a bra, at the same time that Negan also tossed your jeans on the bed and pulled his own shirt over his head.

"We're going to sneak down to the kitchen?" you asked, unsure if this was the best idea.

"Doll, I run this fucking place. I don't have to _sneak_ anywhere."

He had a point there, and you acquiesced, rather than argue, before your stomach committed a total mutiny. When you were both dressed (well...minus any socks or underwear), he directed you to precede him out of the bedroom. A quick glance at your watch on the bedside table told you that it was almost 2:30 in the morning, which meant that he was right, and you had a few hours before Ben would head down to the kitchen and start breakfast.

The Sanctuary was oddly quiet, your steps echoing over the concrete as the two of you walked to the end of the hall and down the stairs to the first floor. It felt so taboo, to be doing this. To know that most of the community, sans the perimeter guards, were sleeping soundly in their rooms, unaware that you and their fearless leader were wandering around in search of a midnight snack. And had gone commando while doing so. The thought almost made you laugh, but you didn't want to make any more noise than was needed, for fear of waking someone up. Negan must've been thinking something similar, because a glance up and over at him showcased that he was looking back at you with an identical, child-like grin on his face.

The cafeteria was so quiet you could've heard a pin drop. It was almost eerie, to be in here when it was dark and totally empty, and you were suddenly grateful that Negan was with you. When you made it through the swinging doors to the kitchen, you immediately went over to the fridge, looking for leftovers. Giving a groan of disappointment, you pulled out a Ziploc bag with the remaining cooked pasta noodles and help them up.

"There's no sauce left, just the noodles."

Negan considered for a moment, before walking back across the kitchen and disappearing into the pantry. When he came out, he was carrying an armful of ingredients, including marinara sauce and some cloves of garlic.

"Spaghetti?" you asked, as he set the ingredients on the counter beside the stovetop.

You watched as he pulled one of the clean, white aprons from a nearby stack. They were typically only worn by the newer kitchen staff or those assigned to work with potentially messy foods. You had to internally laugh as he tied the strings in a haphazard knot behind his back. Only Negan would be the type to take precautions against food stains, yet revel in the times he came back from a supply run streaked with blood.

"Figured we might as well make use of the noodles, since you weren't able to ration them all out with the proper amount of sauce." He gave a grin when you glowered at him for the jab, before adding, "Where are your saucepans?"

You turned and opened a cabinet, bending over to retrieve a small, round pot that would be the perfect size to hold enough sauce for the two of you. You went over to the stove and placed it on a burner, before reaching for the can of marinara. However, a hand shot out and pulled it out of reach, and Negan tsked in disapproval before shooing you over, so that he could stand in front of the stove.

Realizing his intent, you put a hand on your hip and skeptically asked, " _You're_ going to make the sauce?"

He gave a large grin, showing off his pearly whites, before responding, "Damn right I am! Spaghetti is my fucking specialty. Now, where's the can opener?"


	48. A Midnight Snack

The two of you moved in sync around the kitchen, as for the first time in a while you were demoted to assistant chef, while Negan took over. You helped him fetch needed items, getting a wooden spoon out of a drawer here and pulling out some spices there. He took his cooking skills seriously, gently barking out orders when he needed help, while you obtained the proper items and observed his sauce-making process with interest. When he seemed to have things mostly under control, you grabbed two place settings, arranging the silverware and glasses of water at the kitchen island sitting in the middle of the tiled room.

Leaning a hip against the counter next to the stove, you watched as Negan stirred the sauce in a steady, counterclockwise direction. He looked sexy as hell, and you wondered why more men weren't so open about their cooking abilities. Didn't they realize how attractive it was to watch a man, who usually tried to act tough and serious, delicately dice garlic and add just the right amount of spices? Or maybe it was just attractive to you? Either way, it was arousing to watch.

He brought the spoon up to his mouth, tasting the sauce and licking his lips. Considering the flavor for a moment, he then grabbed the black pepper from the counter and grinded some into the pot, before resuming his steady stirring. Your stomach gave another growl at the tangy, delicious smell of the sauce, and you didn't hesitate when he lifted the spoon out of the pot again, this time bringing it towards you. His other hand cupped underneath it, ready to catch any drops that might fall.

He put the end of the spoon up to your mouth, and you tasted the sauce, licking your own lips and giving a nod of approval.

"Holy crap, that's delicious!"

He smiled in response, pleased with your reaction. "Told ya spaghetti is my fucking specialty, doll."

With that, he grabbed the two plates of noodles, which you had reheated in the microwave, and spooned a liberal amount of the sauce out on top. Once the plates were settled back onto the counter, he tugged off the still-spotless apron and wadded it into a ball before tossing it back in the general direction of the neatly folded pile. You couldn't even complain, not when your stomach was dragging you towards the food that awaited.

The two of you took your plates over to the island and settled side by side on the barstools, grabbing your forks and eagerly digging in. You had no clue why Negan even bothered getting trays of food from the kitchen, since he was a damn fantastic cook on his own. You internally grinned at the thought of him coming down and helping you cook on a regular basis. Course, that probably wouldn't be a very smart idea, since Ben might really lose his shit if Negan tried to take his spot as your assistant.

Now that your hunger pangs were lessening, you broke the silence with a question. "So, was it you who also made the chocolate cake?"

You glanced over in time to see his lips curl up slightly before he took another bite. "Nah, much as I'd love to take the credit, that was Ben and Simon."

You almost toppled right off the barstool at that. "Ben? AND Simon?"

"Yea," he said around a mouthful of spaghetti. "I think it was mostly Ben, but Simon said he 'helped out' by taste testing it when it was done, to make sure it turned out alright. I swear he's gonna turn into a fucking cake one of these days, with that sweet tooth of his."

You grinned at the mental image of Ben trying to keep his cool and cook while alone with Simon. Oh yea, you were going to have a lot of fun teasing Ben about that one. The jerk hadn't even hinted to you about the cake, although it now made sense why he had been so insistent on you looking nice for Negan and taking the date seriously.

"So, is Simon sticking around for a while, then?" you questioned. You hoped so, for Ben's sake.

Twirling some spaghetti on his fork, Negan shifted on the stool so that his warm thigh pressed up against the length of yours. You weren't sure if you found the gesture comforting or a turn on...was it possible for it to be both?

"Yea, for the time being. Eventually I'll probably send him back to an outpost, but for now, I figure I'll let him stay here. All he could fucking talk about was the quality of the food, so if I make him leave so soon, he might commit a fucking mutiny on me for the chance at another round of ice cream."

You wondered if Simon was sticking around to make up for the loss of Dwight, who was apparently still in a cell, since you hadn't seen him around. You thought of asking Negan about him, but didn't want to ruin the moment. The two of you were in a happy little bubble, and you were unwilling to burst it quite yet.

Once the plates were empty, minus some smears of sauce, you plucked them and the silverware off the counter and walked over to the sink, Negan following behind with the empty glasses of water. You grabbed a rag and turned on the faucet, starting to wash the dirty dishes. Negan automatically came up on your right, and you barely hid your surprise at the sight of a dish towel in his hands. Deciding not to make a comment, you grabbed the detergent and started on the first plate.

When you had scrubbed each dish until it was spotless, and rinsed it of soap suds, you handed them off to Negan to dry, giving him verbal directions as to which cupboard or drawer each dish went back in. The situation felt so domestic that it almost didn't seem real. If only the compound could see their powerful leader now, holding a damp dish towel and putting away forks and spoons.

When the dishes were finished, you went over to the counter island, wiping the surface of any evidence that someone had been there. Glancing over your shoulder, you froze at the sight of Negan leaning back against the front of the sink, eyes locked down on the movements of your ass as you scrubbed at the countertop. At your ceased movement, he trailed his gaze back up to your face.

"We really need to get you some new fucking pants," he drawled.

You realized that he was referring to the tear across the back of your upper thigh, and turned to face him with a cocked eyebrow. "I thought we already had this conversation, about how there isn't a dress code here."

He stood up from the sink, eyes gleaming with possessive lust. "Yea, well, those should be fucking illegal to wear in public. In fact, I'm not sure I like the idea of you wearing them around anyone that isn't me."

You rolled your eyes at the same time that a spark of desire started in the pit of your stomach. "Really? All over a little flash of thigh? Careful, your caveman tendencies are showing," you teased.

Rather than respond, he started across the tiles, intent clear on his face. Instinctually moving backwards, you navigated around the edge of the counter, putting the island between the two of you. Rather than deter him, his expression became even more intense, as he rounded the corner without any hesitation and strode purposefully towards you.

"Why you runnin', Red? I thought you wanted to see what big teeth I had."

The spark of desire had officially turned into a small inferno that coursed over your skin, despite the total inappropriateness of the setting.

"Negan! I work in here!"

"So?" he parried. "I work in my office, but that doesn't mean I don't plan on fucking you across my desk in the near future."

Unable to contain the gasp that left your lips at the mental image his words created, your body went up in flames as he skirted the last corner and closed the distance between you. His hand came up to wrap around the back of your neck, as he pulled your face up and into him and captured your lips in an unbreakable kiss. Any and all potential resistance left the building at the feel of his mouth against yours.

The pace was more hurried this time, as he ran his hands down over your sides and cupped your ass in the tight jeans. You moaned into his mouth and lifted a leg to wrap around his hip, trying to meld your body as close to his as physically possible. If you had thought that sleeping with him would diminish some of your lust, you had been sorely mistaken. If anything, it was worse now...since you knew _exactly_ what Negan's fingers and mouth and cock were capable of.

He pushed you back against the counter, the edge digging slightly into your lower back, as his mouth left yours and trailed down to your throat, while his fingers flicked open the button on your jeans. You whimpered and grabbed onto the back of his head, fingers tightening in his hair when he nipped at your sensitive flesh. He panted against your skin, giving a low growl when you used the thigh at his hip to arch your pelvis up into his.

"Jesus, doll, you're so fucking hot."

You rolled your hips into his again, and he gave an honest-to-god snarl, before you felt strong hands at your waist lifting you up off the floor, your ass landing on the cold countertop. He practically tore the jeans down your legs, sneakers and denim hitting the floor to leave you bare from the waist down, before he tugged your shirt over your head. Before you had even had a chance to process his actions, you found yourself naked, spread out on the counter where you and the rest of the kitchen staff usually ate together. Negan was still fully dressed, and you were incredibly turned on by that juxtaposition. Leaning back on your elbows, legs dangling off the edge of the table, you waited to see what he would do next.

His eyes raked over you like a full-body caress, starting at the top of your head and moving down over your face, which most likely was sporting lust-glazed eyes, flushed cheeks, and a panting, open mouth with lips swollen from his kisses. He moved down over your chest, the curve of your breasts thrusting forward enticingly in this position, then took in the dip of your waist and the curve of your hips. He paused for a long moment at the juncture of your thighs, although your legs were currently pressed together so he probably couldn't see too much, before he trailed down over your legs, ending with a glance at your toes.

When he finally lifted his gaze back up to your own, you were practically panting from anticipation, ready to beg him to take off his own clothes or touch you or just do _something_. Instead, he used another weapon at his disposal, and started talking.

"Do you have any idea how fucking beautiful you look? I'm no artist, but I sure as fuck would give anything for an easel and some paint right now."

Trying to keep yourself from melting into a puddle on the floor, you lightly kicked a dangling foot back and forth, and saucily quipped, "There's a pen and notepad in one of the drawers."

His heated gaze stayed on yours, lips curling up into a slight smirk as he stepped up between your legs and closed the distance between your bodies. You gasped at the sensation of his still-clothed body pressed up against your own bare flesh. The fabric of his pants scratched sensually against your inner thighs, and your hands ran up over his shoulders, feeling the hard muscles underneath the soft cotton of his shirt.

He leaned down and whispered in your ear, "If you're still able to sass me, then I obviously need to step up my fucking game."

You shivered at the puffs of warm breath on your ear, his sexy-as-hell voice escalating your arousal so that your thighs tightened around him automatically. You didn't even care what words came out of his mouth, so long as he kept talking to you in that sinfully low gravel.

He chuckled, the vibrations making hair stand up on the back of your neck. "Someone's awfully eager. If I wasn't certain I had already fucked you to exhaustion earlier, I might almost be offended, doll. But, I think it's just that you still want me that...fucking...much." The last few words were said between nips to your earlobe and a rough kiss to the underside of your jaw.

"Oh, god," you gasped, eyes fluttering closed as your fingers pulled frantically at his shirt, wanting him naked, as well. You couldn't ever remember being turned on by a man this quickly, nor being so ready to scream in frustration strictly from the sound of a man's voice.

"What's the matter, doll?" he purred, reaching up and tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, before trailing his fingers down over the front of your chest. "Tell daddy what you want."

On some level, you realized that he had probably thrown out the 'daddy' comment as a joke, or as a way to throw you off balance and make you toss back some sarcastic retort. And, before meeting Negan, you would've done just that, or probably even been totally turned off by it.

So why the hell did the words instead cause moisture to rush between your thighs and an involuntary whimper to leave your lips?

He stilled above you, obviously as surprised as you were by your reaction. Refusing to open your eyes and see his expression, especially since you would die of mortification if he had an arrogant smirk on his face right now, you instead changed the focus entirely by reaching forward and palming the erection that was pressing into you through his pants. When he let out a groan in response, you knew the distraction had worked.

He pulled his hips back out of reach, and before you could complain, his mouth started a downward trail, stopping to suck and lick your breasts until the nipples were hard and shining with saliva. But he didn't stop there.

It took until his mouth was moving down over your stomach, teeth nipping at your hip bone, before you realized his intent. Eyes flying open, you looked down the front of your body, elbows almost giving out at the sight of his face hovering right over your wet cunt. Using two fingers, he spread your lips, exposing the gathered moisture to the cool air, his eyes fixated on the sight. Before you could decide whether or not to be embarrassed by his close scrutiny, he lifted his gaze and locked eyes with you, the breath rushing out of your lungs at the amber flames that pinned you to the counter. Without looking away, he raised your legs up so that the back of your thighs were resting on his cotton-covered shoulders, before lowering his face and pressing his mouth into you.

At the first touch of his tongue, you immediately broke eye contact, head falling backwards with a moan as he licked you from ass to clit. He gave a low groan that vibrated all through your body before licking again, this time dipping his tongue inside of you, as if trying to gather up as much of the wetness as he could. Your elbows officially lost the battle, your upper back falling to the cool counter as your hips arched up into his face, unsure if they wanted to get away from the overwhelming, yet heavenly, sensations or press closer.

He wrapped both his arms around your thighs, hands hard on your hips to anchor you in place. His tongue slipped through your folds before latching onto your clit this time, and he gave it a light suck that caused you to whine and struggle helplessly in his grasp.

"Fuck...oh, fuck, Negan!" you moaned, one hand scrabbling helplessly at the slippery surface of the counter, while the other one reached down, nails digging into his wrist for stability. Between his words earlier and now this, it was obvious that Negan's mouth had been created solely for the purpose of driving women wild. And he knew it.

After what could've been a few moments or a few minutes of the delicious torture (time had no meaning to you, at this point), he upped the intensity by freeing his wrist from your death grip and bringing the hand down between your thighs. Slowly pushing two fingers deep inside you, he hooked them on the spot that caused you to almost bow right off the counter. His tongue continued to swirl around your clit as his lips sucked lightly, in counterpoint to the steady pace of his fingers moving in and out, rubbing against that magical spot inside of you with each thrust.

When he latched onto your clit and shook his head quickly back and forth with a groan, you were done for, body convulsing as the orgasm washed over you like a tidal wave, leaving you drenched and trembling and utterly wrecked.

You were still coming down from the high, heart pounding and out of breath, as he kissed his way down your inner thigh, rubbing his beard on your sensitive flesh like a cat. Pushing weakly at his head, you twisted away from the overwhelming sensations. He lifted his head, eyes coasting up over your still-trembling and sweat-covered body, before he fixed you with an arrogant smirk.

"Sensitive, doll?"

You wanted to say something sarcastic, but you couldn't even find the energy needed to cock an eyebrow at him, let alone form words, so instead opted for aggressively panting in his direction and giving a half-hearted mental response of 'asshole'.

He chuckled, obviously pleased with his handiwork, and straightened up so that he was looming over you. His jaw clenched at the sight of you spread out before him, eyes scanning as if he were trying to memorize every detail. Finally finding some strength reservoirs, you sat up, using a hand around the back of his neck to pull his mouth down to yours. The musky sweetness of him was overlaid with the taste of your own juices, and the concoction served to kickstart your desire all over again.

Deciding that it was time to wipe the arrogant smile off his face, you reached forward and started undoing his belt. Once it was unbuckled, and the button and zipper were released, you reached within and pulled out his hard, weeping cock, giving it a firm stroke with your hand. His answering grunt caused heat to pool low in your stomach, and you used the precum leaking from the tip to coat his erection for a smoother stroke, giving an arrogant grin of your own when his hips canted forward into your grip. You both watched, mesmerized, while you stroked his erection as it bobbed between your legs over the countertop, encouraging groans of pleasure coming from the man above you.

Pulling your gaze away from the sight, you looked up at him, taking in his flushed face and the vein straining along the side of his throat. Gone was the arrogant smirk, replaced with an open-mouthed look of pleasure, and you felt a rush of power at the thought that you could reduce him to this. You. And _only_ you.

When his hips were uncontrollably twitching and his cock was an angry, deep red, he pulled away from your hold with a moan. Disappointment was quickly replaced with anticipation when he reached into the pocket of his jeans, which were now halfway down his thighs, and pulled out a condom. Sneaky bastard must've grabbed one before leaving his room. And, while you might've been a little miffed at his presumptuousness of how this kitchen adventure was going to end, you were also thankful that he had the foresight to be prepared, since you hadn't thought to do so. Hell, after tonight, you should probably start keeping a condom in your bra at all times when around him, just in case.

Quickly rolling on the condom, Negan pulled you down the counter by the hips, so that your ass was hanging precariously off the edge, supported only by him. Wrapping your legs around his waist for leverage, you clawed at his shirt, whispering, "Take it off." He might not have fully removed his pants, but you'd be damned if he kept you from the glorious sight of his bare chest.

Acquiescing, he reached up over his shoulder with one hand, fisting the material at his upper back and jerking the shirt up over his head. Licking your lips at the delicious expanse of tan skin and lean muscles, you tightened your thighs at his hips, frantically trying to draw him closer. There were no games or teasing now, just pure need, and you cried out with relief at the feel of his cock nudging between your wet folds.

He entered you with a loud grunt, working his way deep in one, long thrust. You were surprised to find yourself already pushed close to another orgasm, and were grateful when he set up a deep and fast rhythm that reflected both of your urgent needs. He leaned forward, bracing his hands on the countertop at your hips, while your own hands reached up, one grabbing his bicep and the other curling into his chest hair. The sounds of your cries echoed loudly around the kitchen, but you were unaware of them, your world narrowed down to the feel of the man above and inside you, and the building pressure that was begging to be freed.

It was the sound of your name growled in his deep, rough voice that sent you soaring, body tightening and breath hitching when the tension released. You called out his name as the pleasure broke apart within you, rolling over your flesh in waves and pulsing through your veins like fire. Distantly, you heard him moan with his own release as he shuddered above you and was thrown into the inferno of pleasure, as well.

It took a few minutes for you both to cool down, Negan slowly pulling away from you and hiking his pants back up. After buttoning them, he ran a hand through his sex-tousled hair. The sight of his bicep flexing, coupled with the pants hanging low and loose on his hips, caused a stir between your thighs.

 _Jesus Christ, girl, will you chill the hell out!_

Refusing to acknowledge the fact that your traitorous body was still itching for another round, you slid forward and off the table, bringing you to stand directly in front of Negan. You both looked at each other in silence for a moment, before twin grins broke out over your faces.

"I can't believe we just did that in here," you said with a light laugh, bending over to grab your jeans off the tiles.

"I gotta say, doll, that was the best fucking dessert I've ever had. It even beats your berry crisp."

Having been in the process of buttoning your jeans, your head flew up, a blush heating your cheeks at both his words and the way he was intently watching you. He had found his shirt and was already fully clothed, leaning a hip against the counter and greedily watching you get dressed. You felt the blush deepen at the sight of your own shirt dangling from his fingers. When you reached out a hand for it, he teasingly moved it out of reach.

"You sure you wanna put this back on, doll?" he taunted. "I think you look fucking better without it."

Rather than make another grab for the shirt, you instead turned around and headed towards the door, throwing back over your shoulder, "Alright, fine, hope there aren't too many of your men up and walking around right now."

You made it to the swinging doors leading to the cafeteria before a warm arm halted your forward movement by wrapping around your waist.

"Damnit woman, are you trying to get all my men killed?" his voice growled in your ear.

Turning with a grin, you gazed up at him with a falsely innocent look on your face. "What, you think a little peek of breast is gonna give them all heart attacks?"

Squinting down at you with displeasure, Negan rolled up your shirt, so that the arm and head holes were easily accessible, and gestured at you. Lifting your arms obediently, you let him pull it down over your head, effectively covering all your more intimate assets from view.

"More that they'd all be getting a fucking taste of Lucille for daring to look at something that isn't theirs."

Biting your lip, you processed his possessive words. They caused a tingle in your chest, but you ignored it, instead deciding to keep the conversation light by rolling your eyes at him.

"Last time I checked, I'm not anyone's. It's not the 1900s, Negan. Women aren't property."

He looked as though he wanted to say something in response, but he smartly kept quiet, and instead pushed open one of the swinging doors, gesturing for you to proceed him out of the kitchen. The cafeteria was still dark and a bit creepy, but your internal clock told you that it wouldn't be more than a couple of hours until more life brightened up the space.

When you had both exited the cafeteria and entered the stairwell, you had a moment of self-doubt. It was probably almost 4am at this point, and you weren't sure if it was time to make your way back to your own room. Course, your panties and bra were still in his room, as was your watch. Whether he sensed your hesitation or was acting of his own desire, Negan chose that moment to reach out and grab your hand with his, tangling your fingers together and continuing up the steps past the third floor and towards his own floor. _Whelp, there goes that dilemma._

You felt a thrill at the prospect that he wanted you to come back to his room, that he wasn't ready to kick you out quite yet. You didn't want to read too much into his gesture, but that didn't stop you from feeling as though you might burst from happiness.

When you made it back to his bedroom, which was still dimly lit by the one lamp, you excused yourself to use his bathroom. Relieving yourself and washing your hands, you came back out to find that he was already waiting in the bed. A quick glance at the dark mass of fabric on the floor was evidence that he was naked under the covers, so you quickly stripped down yourself. He lifted the sheet when you came around to the side of the bed, and you crawled in, turning around and immediately snuggling your back against his chest. Looping an arm around your waist, he pulled you in tight, dropping a light kiss to your shoulder before he settled into the pillows with a sigh.

"Night, doll," he husked, already sounding half asleep.

Smiling in the darkened room, you closed your eyes and whispered back, "Good night, Negan."

As sleep claimed you, one thought lingered in your mind.

 _A girl could get used to this._


	49. First Response

**Author's Note: Holy crap, sorry it took so long for this update! If y'all are still keeping up with this fic and reading new chapters, then I bow down to your patience and dedication. I'm not worthy.**

 **Also, the title for this chapter came from my wonderful beta and friend, Malaree, and I had to chuckle to myself when she suggested it…you'll see why.**

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Early morning sunlight streamed in through the large windows, the golden rays painting a warm path over your forehead and cheeks. Eyes opening slowly, you squinted into the brightness, awakened from what had been the best sleep you'd had in ages. Negan's bed was like heaven, the mattress decadently soft and the sheets luxurious against your bare skin. A satisfied smile curled your lips at the thought of last night, and you slowly rolled over, reaching an arm out to find…

That the other side of the bed was empty.

You froze, feeling a little tendril of self-doubt start to curl in your chest at the sight of the sheets pulled back, a slight depression still on the pillow as evidence that he had been there not too long ago. But why would he leave? And without saying anything? Did he regret last night?

You sat up in the bed, clutching the sheets to your chest, heart pounding as you thought back over recent events. He had definitely been the one to lead you back here, and made it known that he wanted you to stay the night, so why…

A piece of paper on the bedside table caught your eye. It was folded, so that it stood upwards like a tent, and your name was written in familiar looped handwriting on the front. Grabbing it off the table, you unfolded it and read the words, relief washing in like the tide to drown your self-doubt before it could take root.

 _Morning, doll. Had an early meeting and didn't want to wake you. I'll see you tonight._

 _Negan_

 _P.S. Feel free to use the shower and forget your panties again._

You huffed out a laugh at the end, residual embarrassment flushing your cheeks, as you remembered him finding your balled-up panties the last time you had used his bathroom. The thought of the hot water that beckoned from his shower caused you to push the embarrassment aside and stand up from the bed. You winced at the slight soreness between your thighs, stretching tired arms over your head and feeling a slight ache in muscles that hadn't been used that vigorously in quite a long time.

Walking into the bathroom, you found your clothes neatly folded on the sink, and had to smile at the domestic gesture. The smile turned into a small gasp when you caught sight of yourself in the large mirror hanging above the sink.

Your hair was snarled about your head and over your shoulders, but that wasn't what held your attention. Stepping closer, you took in the hickies that dotted across your collarbones and chest. Looking down, you saw various little bruises where Negan had bit you, and your inner thighs bore the redness of beard burn. There were also what looked suspiciously like finger-shaped bruises on your hips from where he had gripped tightly to hold you still for his powerful thrusts.

Negan had staked his claim on your flesh, providing visual reminders of where he had been. Rather than feel ashamed or offended by the souvenirs, you felt a rush of satisfaction, as well as a hint of arousal, at being so obviously marked as his. You also couldn't help but wonder if he bore any marks of his own, thinking back to the way your nails had dug into his shoulders and scratched down his back when you came.

Smiling smugly, you turned on the water and stepped into the massive shower, sighing with pleasure as the hot water cascaded down over your sore muscles. Thoughts of Negan joining you flitted through your mind as you soaped up your body, imagining it was his hands running down over your breasts and across your hips. Your grin turned absolutely wicked when you realized that those thoughts didn't have to stay in fantasy land. In fact, perhaps tonight's mission would be coaxing him into this bathroom, where you could run soap over every square inch of his body, making sure he was squeaky clean, before dropping to your knees on the tiles and getting a taste of his cock. You doubted it would take much coaxing for him to agree with your plan, and you were practically vibrating with excitement as you turned off the water and wrapped yourself in one of the fluffy towels.

Pulling on the clothes, you were suddenly glad to have worn the grey shirt, as the neckline was high enough that it just covered the hickies. Thankfully, Negan had at least been aware enough not to mark your neck, probably sensing that you'd have thrown a fit if you had to wear multiple band aids to dinner. Running his comb through your wet hair, you decided to let it hang loose until it dried. You glanced at his toothpaste longingly, but weren't about to use his toothbrush, so gave yourself one last look in the mirror before turning and exiting the bathroom. Stopping at his armoire, you only hesitated for a moment before opening the drawer, pulling out a few of the condoms, and stuffing them in your back pocket. It never hurt to be on the safe side, and you didn't want to always depend on him to have one handy, especially since more spontaneous situations like last night in the kitchen were bound to happen.

You cracked the door open and peeked up and down the hall before leaving his rooms, glad that the coast was clear. Speed-walking to the stairwell, you half expected Simon to pop out from behind a random door with his knowing grin, but thankfully didn't encounter anyone until back on your own floor. Stopping by your room to eat a quick granola bar breakfast, deposit all but one of the condoms on your bedside table, and grab your own toothbrush and toothpaste, you went to the nearest bathroom to brush your teeth before grabbing the copy of _Harry Potter_ and heading outside. Your subconscious appeared at your side, skipping across the asphalt and humming a cheery tune with a dreamy smile on its face. Even your brain had an extra pep in its step and a satisfied grin; though it tried to act as if its happiness was just because you were about to read a favorite novel, you knew last night was also a large contributor to its mood.

They both sat with you at the picnic table, though your subconscious too busy creating flower crowns to bother with reading. The warm sun quickly dried your hair as you immersed your Muggle self in a magical world where an orphaned boy was given a life-changing letter and transported to a school that you'd give your left arm to have be real. Reading this again, after so many years, felt like reliving your childhood, and you weren't at all surprised to discover that you were just as obsessed with devouring the pages now as when you had read it the first time.

You were over halfway through the novel when you finally glanced at your watch and saw that it was almost time to head to the kitchen for dinner prep. Rubbing your eyes and standing from the table, you reluctantly closed the book, making a mental note of which chapter you were on. There was no way you were going to desecrate any book by folding down the page corners, and you had always felt a twinge of nausea anytime you saw someone else do so.

Once the novel was back on your nightstand, and your hair was once more up in its signature bun, you headed down to the kitchen, unaware of the permanent smile on your face and extra glow in your cheeks. Everyone you passed in the hallways got an extra cheerful hello, and your subconscious and brain shared a secret look of amusement. You didn't notice. Today had been a wonderful day so far, and in just a few hours, you'd get to see Negan again. See him and touch him and taste him and...

Walking through the cafeteria and into the kitchen, you greeted Ben and the others with a wave. A thrill went through you at the sight of the counter island where Negan had licked and fucked you to orgasm. It now held empty roll baskets, and you were glad that you had scrubbed the surface before you left last night, not to mention it would've gotten wiped down again during the breakfast hours. Wiping down counters made you think of wiping off the remnants of your lovemaking in that huge shower this morning...which then made you think about Negan being in that shower. Soon you were replaying yet again the fantasy of showering together and vowing to make it a reality in the very near future.

The fantasy was interrupted when you gave everyone their tasks and scanned the kitchen to make sure everything was running smoothly. You saw one of the girls assigned to make the dough for rolls grab a folded apron off the pile, and a crumpled mass laying nearby caught your attention. _Crap._ You had forgotten how Negan balled up and tossed his apron aside last night, your brain too amped up on hormones and then post-orgasmic bliss to remember to refold it before leaving the kitchen.

Trying to look casual, you walked over and grabbed the winkled apron. There were two small splotches of dried sauce on the front, not to mention the wrinkles that were all over it from being manhandled and discarded, so you couldn't refold and put it back on the pile. Ben would go into a full-on lecture to the entire staff if he saw stains or wrinkles on what was supposed to be a fresh apron. He was just as finicky you were, if not worse, when it came to kitchen protocol and things being clean and orderly. So, to save him from getting flustered, and also to save the newer workers who did the folding from an impassioned speech on the merits of running a clean and efficient kitchen, you tied the apron around your own waist.

You rarely wore aprons while cooking, but you doubted anyone would question it. Next time, you'd be sure to let Negan know that he was to follow kitchen procedure and put any dirty aprons in the proper laundry bag with the others. Your subconscious wiggled its eyebrows at the thought of another kitchen adventure like last night's and contemplated the other counters in the immediate vicinity, as if trying to decide which should be christened 'next time'. Meanwhile, your brain glanced up from the newspaper it had been reading, giving a lighthearted eye roll and sigh of exasperation at the subconscious' obsession with getting you laid. It wasn't fooling anyone though, since it had also been pleased with last night's activities.

It was about an hour into dinner prep, when the other workers were busy with tasks that placed them out of earshot, that Ben came up beside you at the stove, where you were stirring marinara sauce for the pasta dish. "So," he said casually, pretending to be focused on watching you stir the sauce. "How'd it go last night?"

Glancing around to double check no one would hear, you replied, "He put together a rooftop dinner, complete with candles."

You saw Ben's head whip towards you out of the corner of your eye and couldn't help but smile. "He what?!" Ben exclaimed.

Nodding, you gave a quick overview of dinner, including how Negan had changed his outfit for the occasion. You made sure to mention that the advice to wear your hair down had been helpful, which caused Ben to give a pleased 'I told you so' look. When he asked how dessert went, you turned and looked at him while saying, "You mean the cake that both you and _Simon_ made?"

The tips of Ben's ears turned red, and he stammered a bit before replying, "It was his idea to help, not mine! Plus, I didn't want to risk messing it up and Negan putting my head on a spike, so I figured I could use the assistance."

Giving him a devilish smirk, you only gave a long, "Mmmm hmmmm," in response.

Clearing his throat, he tried to change the topic by joking, "Well, chocolate is supposed to be an aphrodisiac, so maybe we were just trying to help push things along."

Eyes widening, you felt way more than just your ears turn red at his statement. You tried to quickly turn your face away and refocus on adding some more garlic to the marinara, but knew it was too late and your reaction had been too obvious.

"Oh my god," Ben whispered. "You two finally fucked!"

"Shh!" you hissed, frantically glancing around and relieved to see that the others were still out of hearing range.

Grinning like a cat who had caught the canary, Ben nudged your arm with his. "How was it?"

Hoping no one else in the kitchen would notice that your face was the same hue as the sauce, you whispered, "It was...even better than I imagined. And _that's_ saying something." Just talking about it caused an involuntary shiver to go through your shoulders at the memory.

Ben gave a low whistle of approval. "I'm impressed. After dancing around each other for a month, which is probably about a month longer than any other woman has made him wait, I thought maybe he'd blow his load after two pumps."

Gasping in shock at his vulgarity, you tried to look angry with his accusation, but instead ended up having to cover your mouth to keep from laughing so hard it would alert the rest of the staff. "I can't believe you just said that! He'd kill you if he knew!" you snickered. Though it would end painfully for Ben if Negan ever overheard, a snort escaped you at the mental image of Negan's face if he knew someone had questioned his sexual stamina.

Waving a hand in dismissal, Ben looked unconcerned. "He wouldn't dare. I'm your best friend, which means that so long as he wants to keep you happy, I have immunity."

"Oh, really? Is that how it works?" you asked with an arched brow, wiping away the tears that had formed from laughing so hard.

Nodding, Ben replied, "Yep, perks of being close to the boss lady is that I'm now safe from the boss man."

"And what do I get out of this friendship, hmm? It seems like you're the one receiving all the perks," you joked playfully.

"You, my dear, get the gift of being graced with my presence," he said with a wink. "Not to mention you get cake. Cake that leads to fantastic sex. So, you're welcome."

With that, he gave a dramatic bow before going back into Work Ben mode, striding across the tiles to make sure a newer staff member, who had recently been promoted from dishwasher to meal prep, was chopping the vegetables properly. You heard Ben start lecturing the young man, who looked even younger than Trixie and like he'd never cooked a day in his life, on how to slice the carrots gracefully with a knife, not stab harshly so that the blade slammed loudly against the cutting board. You gave it less than two minutes before Ben gave a sigh of exasperation, grabbed another knife, and just start cutting it all himself. Tuning out Ben's chopping exposition, you allowed your thoughts to drift back to last night, which caused a permanent smile to stay fixed on your face.

The smile slipped about half an hour later, when Amber showed up asking for a dinner tray for Negan, her eyes scanning you up and down judgmentally before giving an obviously forced smile. You had the strongest urge to claw her eyes out, but instead pasted a sickly-sweet smile on your own face and signaled Trixie to put together the request. Trying and failing not to glare at her retreating form when she left, you reminded yourself that all she was doing was dropping off food. She might try her little seductive act, but at the end of the day, Negan wanted to see _you_. Perhaps, if you kept repeating that over and over, then your subconscious would stop whispering all the possible ways to permanently dispose of the woman who swayed her hips way more than was needed for a simple walk out of the kitchen.

Other than that little moment of homicidal fantasizing, the rest of dinner went well. However, if you were being honest, your mind wasn't really on your job. Instead, your thoughts were up a few flights and down the hall, in Negan's rooms. Scarfing down a bowl of the pasta, you all but flew out of the kitchen, Ben waggling his brows knowingly and earning a playfully thrown middle finger salute as you exited through the swinging doors.

Your feet felt as though they practically glided over the floor, stomach tightening with anticipation of seeing Negan again. You wondered if it would be too forward to throw yourself at him the moment he was within arms' reach and beg him to take off all his clothes. Or maybe you could just grab him by the hand and drag him into the bathroom to fulfill your shower fantasy. Either way, you planned on having him naked and inside you as soon as possible, and the thought made you step up your pace to almost a jog. You were officially on cloud nine, had a sexy man waiting, and nothing was going to ruin your evening.

As if the fates had heard your thought and taken it as a challenge, you opened the unlocked door to Negan's room and instantly knew something was wrong. He was standing in front of his desk, obviously anticipating your arrival, with arms crossed and a thunderous expression on his face. Thinking that something must've happened at his meeting earlier, you were too distracted by how sexy he looked even while scowling to notice the pit that had started to form in your stomach or the way your subconscious tugged at the back of your shirt in warning.

"What's wrong?" you asked, moving forward to wrap your arms around his waist.

Confusion shot through you when he jerked away, out of reach. Brows furrowed, you finally took the time to really look at him and analyze his body language. He was glaring at you, and the realization came that he wasn't angry about some meeting...he was, for some reason, mad at _you_.

"Negan? What's going on?" you asked, trying to think back over the past 24 hours and pinpoint what could cause this reaction.

Rather than immediately answer, he walked behind his desk and opened one of the drawers. Pulling out a small rectangular box, he threw it down on the desk and waited expectantly. Still confused, you stepped closer to see what it was, eyes widening when you saw the picture on the front.

Looking up at him, you croaked, "Why are you showing me a pregnancy test?"

You knew why, but were hoping that there was the smallest possible chance you were wrong, that he couldn't possibly know about you helping Trixie. Would he just be pissed that you hadn't told him about someone in the compound needing medical assistance, or would he also demand you tell him _who_ it was that needed a test? You really hoped it wasn't the latter, because you had made Trixie a promise...unless he already knew. Hell, maybe Trixie had ratted herself out, and by proxy taken you down with her.

"I figured you might want an extra one, just to be fucking sure. Unless it was positive, in which case, I supposed congratulations are in order." His voice was terrifyingly quiet, the words low and calm...the calm before the storm.

"What?" You were confused again. "Why would you think…"

Shards of ice cut through you, making it suddenly hard to breathe. _Oh, shit. He thinks the test was for you._

Negan leaned down and placed his palms flat on top of the desk, his gaze drilling into you with so much heat that your face felt singed from the flames. "I'm only going to ask you this once, and I expect you to provide a fucking honest answer." He leaned further over the desk, causing you to take an involuntary step backwards.

"Who the _fuck_ is the father?"


End file.
